AMATEUR*  DETECTIVE 


OOOOOGO 


EDWARD  H.  HVRLBVT 


LANAGAN 


"TWO  MORE  SHOTS  TORE  THROUGH  AND  SPRAYED  US 
WITH  SPLINTERS" 


LANAG AN 

AMATEUR  DETECTIVE 


BY 

EDWARD  H.  HURLBUT 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

FREDERIC  DORR  STEELE 


flew 

STURGIS  &  WALTON 

COMPANY 

1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1918,  BY 
STURGIS  &  WALTON  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  March,  1918 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  WHITHER  THOU   GOEST 3 

II  THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT 31 

III  THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE 63 

IV  WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY 93 

V  THE   AMBASSADOR'S    STICK-PIN 121 

VI  WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH 151 

VII  THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY 181 

VIII  AT  THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT 209 

IX  THE  DOMINANT   STRAIN 235 

X  OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 263 


2136333 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FROM  DRAWINGS  BY 

FREDERICK  DORR  STEELE 

"Two  more   shots   tore   through,   and   sprayed 

us  with  splinters " Frontispiece 

PACING  PAGE 

"  Then  Lanagan  took  his  leisurely  turn,  drawing  up  an 

easy  chair." 96 

"He  lit  a  match" 160 

"On  the  floor  they  placed  the  figure  they  bore,  a  stal 
wart  figure  of  a  man." 280 


LANAGAN 

AMATEUR  DETECTIVE 

I 

WHITHER  THOU  GOEST 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST 

JACK  LANAGAN  of  the  San  Francisco  En 
quirer  was  conceded  to  have  "  arrived  "  as  the 
premier  police  reporter  of  San  Francisco.  This 
honour  was  his  not  solely  through  a  series  of  brilli 
ant  newspaper  feats  in  his  especial  field,  but  as  well 
by  reason  of  an  entente  that  permitted  him  to  call 
half  the  patrolmen  on  the  force  by  their  given  names ; 
enjoy  the  confidences  of  detective  sergeants,  a  close- 
mouthed  brotherhood;  dine  tete-a-tete  in  private  at 
French  restaurants  with  well-groomed  police  cap 
tains  on  canvasback  or  quail  out  of  season,  and  sit 
nonchalantly  on  a  corner  of  the  chief's  desk  and  ab 
sent-mindedly  smoke  up  the  chief's  two-bit  cigars. 

It  was  an  intimacy  that  carried  much  of  the  lore 
of  the  force  with  it:  that  vital  knowledge  not  of 
books.  Bill  Dougherty  on  the  "  pawnbroker  de 
tail  "  knew  scarcely  more  "  fences  "  than  did  Lana- 
gan;  Charley  Hartley,  who  handled  the  bunco  de 
tail,  found  himself  nettled  now  and  then  when  Lana- 
gan  would  pick  him  up  casually  at  the  ferry  build 
ing  and  point  out  some  "  worker  "  among  the  in 
coming  rustics  whom  Hartley  had  not  "  made,"  and 
debonair  Harry  O'Brien,  who  spent  his  time  among 
the  banks,  was  more  than  once  rudely  jarred  when 

3 


4  LANAGAN 

Lanagan  would  slip  over  on  the  front  page  of  the 
Enquirer  a  defalcation  that  had  been  engaging 
O'Brien's  attention  for  a  week. 

So  it  went  with  Lanagan ;  from  the  "  bell  hops  " 
of  big  hotels,  the  bar  boys  of  clubs,  down  to  the 
coldest-blooded  unpenned  felon  of  the  Barbary  Coast 
who  sold  impossible  whiskey  with  one  hand  and 
wielded  a  blackjack  with  the  other,  the  police  sources 
were  his. 

Consequently  Lanagan,  having  "  arrived,"  may 
be  accorded  a  few  more  liberties  than  the  average 
reporter  and  permitted  to  spend  a  little  more  time 
than  they  in  poker  in  the  back  room  at  Fogarty's, 
hard  by  the  Hall  of  Justice.  Here,  when  times  were 
dull,  he  could  drift  occasionally  to  fraternise  with  a 
"  shyster,"  those  buzzards  of  the  police  courts  and 
the  city  prisons  who  served  Fogarty;  or  with  one 
of  the  police  court  prosecuting  attorneys  affiliated 
with  the  Fogarty  political  machine,  for  Fogarty  was 
popularly  credited  with  having  at  least  two  and  pos 
sibly  three  of  the  police  judges  in  his  vest  pocket. 
Or  he  could  rattle  the  dice  with  a  police  judge  him 
self  and  get  the  "  inside  "  on  a  closed-door  hearing 
or  the  latest  complaint  on  the  secret  file;  and  he 
could  keep  in  touch  with  the  "  plain-clothes  "  men 
who  dropped  in  to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  Fo 
garty;  or  with  the  patrolmen  coming  on  and  off 
watch,  who  reported  to  Fogarty  as  regularly  as  they 
donned  and  doffed  their  belts  and  helmets  things 
they  thought  Fogarty  should  know. 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  5 

In  this  fashion  does  the  police  reporter  best  serve 
his  paper;  for  it  is  by  such  unholy  contact  that  he 
keeps  in  touch  with  the  circles  within  circles  of  the 
police  department  of  a  great  city.  Some  he  handles 
by  fear,  some  he  wins  by  favour,  some  he  wheedles. 
In  the  end,  if  he  be  a  brother  post-graduate,  the 
grist  of  the  headquarters'  mill  is  his. 

Of  the  shysters  there  is  Horace  Lathrop,  for  in 
stance,  who  boasts  a  Harvard  degree  when  he  is 
drunk  —  never  when  he  is  sober. 

Horace  is  sitting  with  Lanagan  at  Fogarty's 
rear  room  table,  while  Lanagan  sips  moodily  at  his 
drink. 

Larry  the  Rat,  runner  for  the  shysters,  pasty  of 
face,  flat  of  forehead  as  of  chin,  with  an  upper  lip 
whose  malformation  suggests  unpleasantly  the  ro 
dent  whose  name  he  bears,  shuffles  in  and  bespeaks 
Lathrop  at  length.  That  worthy  straightens  up, 
glances  at  Lanagan,  and  then  remarks: 

"  Casey  has  just  brought  in  a  moll,"  and  arises, 
with  elaborate  unconcern,  to  leave  the  room. 

"Well,"  drawled  Lanagan,  "what  else?" 

"  Nothing.  That's  all  I  know.  Going  to  try  to 
get  the  case  now,  whatever  it  is." 

"  Is  that  all  you  told  him,  Larry  ?  "  asked  Lana 
gan.  The  Rat  mumbled  unintelligibly  and  shuffled 
away. 

"  The  Rat's  answered  after  his  breed,"  said  Lana 
gan.  "  He  says  no,  it  is  not.  Now,  Horace  — 
pardon  me,  Barrister  Lathrop  —  kick  through. 


6  LANAGAN 

You  know  I've  got  to  deliver  a  story  to  my  paper 
to-day.  Come  on." 

Lanagan  never  wasted  words  with  Lathrop. 
There  were  a  few  trivialities  that  he  "  had  "  on  that 
individual.  But  Lathrop  balked. 

"  Look  here,  Lanagan,  all  I  got's  her  name  and 
address.  It  isn't  square.  She  may  have  a  roll  as 
long  as  your  arm.  You  print  this  story,  the  news 
paper  men  go  at  her  for  interviews,  tip  her  off  about 
me,  she  gets  a  regular  lawyer,  and  where  do  I  come 
off?  You  fellows  are  always  crabbing  our  game. 
I  gave  you  that  shoplifter  story  a  week  ago  and  you 
played  it  for  a  column.  You  know  you  did,  Jack ; 
now  you  know  you  did." 

Lathrop  had  been  whining.     Now  he  stiffened. 

"  I  ain't  going  to,"  defiantly;  "  I'm  tired  o'  being 
bullied  by  you.  Aw,  say  now,  Jack,  it's  a  big  case. 
And  I  got  a  wife  and  kids  to  look  out  for " — 
which  was  a  fact  — "  and  here  you  come  taking  the 
bread  and  butter  out  of  their  mouths.  It  ain't 
square,  Jack ;  you  know  it  ain't." 

All  morals  to  all  men,  reflected  Lanagan,  and 
laughed  lazily,  pulling  a  copy  of  the  Enquirer  across 
the  table. 

"See  her,  Horace?  Right  on  this  page  —  page 
one,  column  two,  right  here,  with  your  name  in  big 
black-face  letters  —  a  little  story  of  about  one-third 
of  a  column  on  that  $750  touch-off  on  that  Oroville 
deacon,  who  went  astray  for  the  first  time  of  his  life 
and  was  pinched  as  a  drunk  —  to  be  fleeced  by  you 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  7 

and  your  precious  band.  There  isn't  any  way  of 
getting  his  money  back,  or  proving  a  case  against 
you  or  the  two  cops  who  cut  the  roll  with  you  and 
Fogarty.  I  didn't  print  the  story,  but  I've  got  the 
facts  pretty  straight ;  and  it  goes  right  here  —  right 
in  this  nice,  conspicuous  place  for  the  grand  jury  to 
see  and  for  that  wife  and  those  '  kids '  to  see  also, 
who,  singular  as  it  may  sound,  actually  don't  know 
what  particular  brand  of  a  '  lawyer  '  you  are.  Get 
all  that?" 

Lathrop  "  got  "  it. 

Lanagan  was  then  told  that  the  detinue  cells  held 
a  young  woman  of  remarkable  beauty,  Miss  Grace 
Turner,  taken  from  a  family  rooming  house  on 
O'Farrell  Street  Also  that  through  Lathrop  word 
of  her  arrest  was  to  be  taken  to  her  brother  there. 
Lathrop  —  or  Larry  the  Rat,  both  being  cogs  in  the 
same  machine  —  had  come  by  the  information  by 
the  underground  wire  that  runs  from  every  city 
prison  to  the  bail-bond  operators  and  their  shysters 
without. 

Fogarty  was  the  bail-bond  chief,  and  possibly  one 
of  the  plain-clothes  men  who  just  now  rested  his 
elbow  upon  the  bar  may  have  passed  that  name  and 
address  to  Larry  the  Rat 

The  "  detinue  "  cases  are  those  on  the  secret  book 
at  headquarters,  that  stable  police  violation  of 
Magna  Charta ;  the  detinue  cases,  therefore,  become 
the  focus  of  the  police  reporter's  activity. 

"  And  incidentally,  Horace,  you  stay  away  from 


8  LANAGAN 

1 1 53 A  O'Farrell  Street  until  I  get  through,"  was 
Lanagan's  final  command. 

"  But  what  about  Fogarty  ?•"  whined  the  shyster. 
"  He  must  know  by  this  time  I  got  the  case.  You 
know  what  he  could  do  to  me  if  he  wanted  to,  Jack." 

"  Yes,  and  I  know  what  I  could  do  to  him  if  I 
wanted  to,  and  he  knows  it,  too,"  snapped  Lanagan. 
"  Leave  him  to  me." 

"  I'm  a  friend  of  Miss  Turner's,"  he  said  as  the 
landlady  opened  the  door  at  H53A  O'Farrell.  "  I 
wish  to  speak  with  her  brother." 

"  He'll  be  glad  to  see  you.  He  has  been  worry 
ing.  You  ain't  another  one  of  them  detectives?  I 
didn't  tell  him,  though.  He  was  asleep  and  the  doc 
tor  said  he  shouldn't  be  worried  just  now.  It  might 
be  fatal.  What  did  they  do  with  the  poor,  dear 
girl?" 

"  Merely  holding  her  for  a  few  hours.  What 
was  the  trouble?  " 

"  Giving  a  bad  check  to  the  druggist  for  medi 
cine.  She  did  the  same  thing  at  the  grocer's.  It's 
a  dirty  trick,  I  say,  to  arrest  the  poor  thing.  Why, 
the  grocer's  bill  was  only  a  few  dollars.  They  don't 
eat  enough  to  keep  my  canary.  The  man  eats 
mostly  almonds.  Something  wrong  with  his  stom 
ach,  and  that  seems  to  be  all  he  can  eat.  Funny, 
ain't  it?" 

The  garrulous  woman  led  Lanagan  to  a  doorway 
in  the  rear.  He  knocked  and,  in  response  to  a  feeble 
yoke,  entered. 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  9 

Propped  np  with  two  pillows  was  a  young  man 
whose  wasted  features  were  bright  with  a  hectic 
flush ;  whose  arms,  hanging  loosely  from  his  gown, 
were  shrunk  to  the  bone  and  sinews.  The  eyes  were 
grey,  steady,  and  assured ;  so  much  so  that  Lanagan 
half  halted  on  the  threshold  as  he  felt  the  response 
in  his  own  sensitive  brain  to  the  personality  that 
flashed  to  him  through  those  eyes.  A  man  of  men 
tal  power,  thought  Lanagan;  of  swift  decision  and 
of  iron  will. 

The  voice  was  little  more  than  a  gasp,  but  each 
word  by  effort  was  clearly  uttered. 

"  You're  an  upper  office  man  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  a  newspaper  man.  Why  did  you 
ask  that?" 

"  Because  they  were  here  and  took  my  sister  for 
overdrawing  what  little  funds  we  had  in  bank." 

There  was  concentrated  fury  in  his  weak  voice. 

"  Still  I  am  curious  to  know  how  you  knew  they 
were  plain-clothes  men  that  took  her?  " 

"  How  ?  A  newspaper  man  ask  how  ?  Because 
they  walk  like  a  ton  of  pig  lead.  And  didn't  that 
cursed  grocer  threaten  to  have  her  arrested  for  a 
paltry  four  or  five  dollars?  I  heard  her  scream 
when  they  took  her.  This" — more  quietly,  with 
a  slight  shrug  and  comprehensive  gesture  to  indicate 
his  wasted  form  and  flushed  cheeks  — "  this  particu 
lar  complaint  serves  to  strengthen  our  outer  facul 
ties  for  a  while  at  least,  even  if  it  is  at  the  expense 
of  our  inner  ones." 


io  LANAGAN 

• 

"  I  take  it  your  sister  is  bringing  you  from  the 
interior  to  the  South  ?  " 

"  Yes.  We  came  from  South  Dakota.  We  were 
robbed  of  our  tickets  on  our  first  night  here.  She 
has  been  trying  to  get  something  to  do  to  save 
enough  money  to  get  as  far  as  Los  Angeles.  It 
came  on  me  suddenly,  alcohol  helping.  Sis  stuck 
when  they  turned  me  out.  On  general  principles, 
I  don't  blame  father.  I  gambled  a  mortgage  on  to 
the  old  ranch  and  twenty  years  on  to  his  head. 
Anyhow,  here  we  are,  Sis  and  me.  That's  what  you 
fellows  on  the  papers  call  a  human-interest  story, 
isn't  it?" 

There  was  something  about  the  measured  and  sin 
ister  tone  that  told  of  the  bitterness  of  a  baffled 
strong  man,  in  the  face  of  a  situation  that  he  was 
powerless  to  avoid.  Lanagan  wondered  what  that 
man  would  have  done  — or  tried  to  do  —  to  him  if 
he  were  in  full  possession  of  his  strength.  He 
judged  from  those  level  grey  eyes  that  the  session 
would  not  be  uninteresting. 

"  Yes,  it  might  be  a  human-interest  story,"  said 
Lanagan,  "  and  then  again  —  it  might  be  better  than 
a  human-interest  story." 

He  was  looking  at  the  tip  of  his  cigar,  flicking 
the  ashes  from  it  as  he  said  it;  but  he  caught  the 
swift,  suddenly  veiled  flash  that  the  keen  eyes  shot 
to  his  face.  To  all  appearances,  though,  Lanagan 
did  not  see  that  glance.  He  had  not  liked  the  ready 
talk  about  upper  office  men ;  and  he  would  take  oath 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  n 

that  in  the  wasted  features,  round  the  ears  and  the 
neck,  were  the  tell-tale  traces  of  that  prison  pallor 
that  requires  many  a  long  day  to  wear  away. 

"  For  instance,"  Lanagan  continued,  still  flicking 
at  his  cigar  tip,  "  if  you  were  being  kept  under  cover 
here?" 

It  was  only  a  swift,  partial  intake  of  breath, 
but  Lanagan  caught  it,  and  then  the  man  spoke  so 
easily  and  smoothly  that  the  newspaper  man  believed 
himself  deceived. 

"  Well,  I  am.  That's  a  bet.  But  just  until  Sis 
can  get  me  away ;  that's  also  a  bet." 

Then  there  followed  details,  the  man  on  the  pil 
lows  supplying  with  facility  a  pedigree  that  went 
back  to  the  Mayflower.  Lanagan  had  been  fishing; 
yet  as  he  left  the  room  he  was  uneasy  and  far  from 
being  satisfied.  As  the  story  stood  it  was  a  neat  lit 
tle  "  human-interest  "  story  —  as  Harry  Turner  had 
said  —  and  worth  a  column  and  a  half.  He  had 
comforted  Turner  to  the  extent  of  informing  him 
that  the  shysters  had  his  sister's  case  and  would 
probably  have  her  out  before  night.  He  drifted 
moodily  back  to  police  headquarters.  There  La- 
throp  met  him. 

"  Nothing  stirring,"  he  said,  disgustedly. 
"  They've  turned  her  loose.  Grocer  wouldn't  prose 
cute.  She's  got  a  sick  brother.  Don't  think  she 
was  a  live  one,  anyway." 

Lanagan  ground  one  palm  into  the  other.  Three- 
quarters  of  the  story  was  gone  with  the  woman  free 


12  LANAGAN 

and  his  "  hunch  "  was  afloat  without  an  anchor. 
He  drifted  into  Chief  Leslie's  office  and  helped  him 
self  to  a  cigar. 

"  Chief,  what  did  you  have  on  that  Turner  girl?  " 

Leslie  was  past  being  surprised  at  anything  Lana- 
gan  knew.  He  stopped  studying  a  police  circular 
long  enough  to  look  up.  "  Couple  of  little  checks, 
but  the  complaining  witness  withdrew.  I  wouldn't 
write  her  up  if  I  were  you.  She's  one  case  entitled 
to  sympathy.  I  talked  to  her.  Thoroughbred,  that 
girl;  consumptive  brother;  taking  him  South.  So 
I  turned  her  loose." 

Leslie  fell  to  studying  his  circular  again  and  Lan- 
agan  drew  up  a  chair  to  look  over  the  circular  also, 
a  little  privilege  he  alone  enjoyed  of  the  newspaper 
men  at  headquarters.  Then  he  whistled  softly; 
Lanagan  was  past  being  surprised  at  anything  — 
almost.  That  whistle  was  about  his  most  demon 
strative  exhibition. 

The  circular  was  from  Denver  and  offered  $5,000 
reward  for  information  leading  to  the  "  arrest  and 
conviction  "  of  Harry  Short,  wanted  for  highway 
robbery  and  murder.  The  details  of  a  Denver  crime 
that  a  brief  time  before  had  shocked  the  country 
were  given  and  the  customary  police  description, 
with  the  front  and  profile  pictures  from  the  rogues' 
gallery. 

"  Would  probably  be  found  with  a  woman,"  the 
circular  read,  "  posing  as  his  wife  or  sister."  There 
followed  a  description  of  the  woman,  Cecile  An- 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  13 

drews,  and  her  history.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a 
country  minister  who  became  enamored  of  Short 
when  he  did  odd  jobs  about  her  father's  place.  She 
had  refused  to  give  him  up  when  he  was  charged 
with  triple  murder.  In  some  way,  it  was  believed, 
she  had  managed  to  join  him  in  hiding,  for  she  had 
disappeared  as  completely  as  he. 

Leslie  finally  became  annoyed  at  Flanagan's  pro 
longed  whistle. 

"  Good  heavens,  Jack,"  he  said  irascibly,  "  I'm 
trying  to  get  these  descriptions  in  my  head.  Take 
that  whistle  outside." 

"All  right;  but  say,  chief — "  The  tone  was 
tense,  drawn  taut  like  a  fiddle  string.  Leslie 
wheeled.  Lanagan's  eyes  were  lighting  up  with  that 
curious  brightness  that  flamed  there  when  the 
strange  brain  of  the  man  was  at  work,  when  there 
was  action  promised,  when  the  tortuous  mazes  of 
some  enigma  were  unfolding  to  that  inner  sight. 

"  Say,  chief,"  he  went  on,  "  I  wonder  if  I  could 
make  a  trip,  say  to  Paris,  on  about  one-half  of  that 
reward?  I've  always  had  a  curiosity  to  study  that 
Paris  police  system.  I  don't  approve  of  newspaper 
men  taking  blood  money.  It  isn't  in  our  game. 
But  it  might  be  proper  to  take  about  one-half  of  that 
money  in  a  case  like  this  for  a  trip  like  that.  What 
do  you  think?  " 

Leslie's  eyes  were  searching  Lanagan's.  He 
knew  of  old  that  Lanagan  was  not  a  quibbler  and 
that  he  never  wasted  words. 


14  LANAGAN 

"  You've  got  something,  Jack.     What  is  it?  " 

"  Him,"  said  Lanagan  inelegantly,  tapping  the 
face  upon  the  circular. 

Leslie  jumped  straight  up  out  of  his  chair.  The 
police  reporter  lit  a  fresh  cigar  from  Leslie's  top 
desk  drawer,  where  the  good  ones  were. 

"  It's  this  way,  chief;  but  the  story's  mine,  mine 
absolutely." 

"  You've  brought  me  the  tip,  the  story's  yours. 
That's  the  way  I  play  the  game,"  said  Leslie. 

"  This  woman  was  the  girl  you  arrested.  Her 
brother's  out  in  a  rooming  house  on  O'Farrell 
Street,  laid  up  with  consumption  —  galloping,  too, 
it  appears  to  me." 

Leslie  was  an  explosive  man,  and  after  a  swift 
glance  through  the  circular  description  of  the 
woman  again,  he  expressed  himself  volubly  and 
with  unction.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  question 
the  accuracy  of  Lanagan's  statements.  He  would 
have  taken  the  newspaper  man's  word  over  that  of 
one  of  his  own  men. 

Lanagan  telephoned  to  Sampson,  city  editor  of 
the  Enquirer,  and  before  that  cold-blooded  individual 
could  get  in  a  word,  Lanagan  had  said  enough  to 
indicate  to  Sampson  that  something  choice  was  on 
the  irons.  Lanagan  had  asked  for  me,  and  I  was 
detailed  to  report  to  him  in  thirty  minutes  at  Van 
Ness  Avenue  and  Eddy. 

It  was  just  thirty  minutes  later  that  the  chief, 
Lanagan,  Brady,  Wilson,  and  Maloney  —  three  of 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  15 

Leslie's  steadiest  thief  takers  —  and  myself  were 
dropping  singly  into  H53A  O'Farrell  Street,  Lana- 
gan  having  preceded  us  to  reassure  the  landlady. 
Maloney  went  on  through  to  take  the  alleyway,  the 
room  having  a  window  over  the  alley.  Softly  and 
swiftly  we  massed  before  the  door.  Lanagan 
took  the  door,  rapping.  There  was  no  answer. 
The  chief  signaled  for  a  rush. 

Leslie  never  carried  but  one  gun,  and  this  he 
now  rested  in  the  hollow  of  his  left  arm.  He  tow 
ered  above  and  behind  us  as  we  noiselessly  wedged 
against  the  old-fashioned,  flimsy  door.  My  heart 
was  beating  like  a  trip  hammer.  I  never  seem 
to  be  able  to  get  over  that  thumping  just  before 
the  opening  engagement  when  I  am  elected  to 
make  a  target  of  myself.  I  confess  freely  that  I 
always  went  into  those  thrillers  with  Lanagan  in 
the  full  expectation  of  getting  my  own  name  and 
picture  in  the  papers,  and  the  complimentary  desig 
nation  usually  accorded  a  man  of  my  profession  by 
the  paper  he  serves  when  mishap  befalls  him :  "  A 
reporter  who  was  killed." 

The  chief  breathed  a  soft  command,  the  wedge 
crashed,  the  bolts  burst,  and  we  were  in  —  an  empty 
room. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  it  seemed  to  me 
for  an  hour;  it  may  have  been  but  a  minute,  while 
Leslie  slipped  back  into  his  holster  that  ugly  gun 
of  his.  Lanagan  was  turning  slowly,  examining 


16  LANAGAN 

every  corner  of  the  room.  His  eyes  were  living, 
snapping  fire. 

"  I  guess,  chief,"  he  drawled,  "  I  won't  make  the 
reservations  to-day  for  that  little  trip  of  mine." 

The  bed  was  unmade,  but  the  room  showed  no 
traces  of  recent  occupation  save  several  empty 
medicine  bottles  from  which  the  labels  had  been 
washed,  and  on  a  closet  shelf  a  paper  sack  half  full 
of  almonds.  There  were  almond  shells  on  the  floor. 
For  the  rest  the  room  held  but  the  ordinary  appur 
tenances  of  a  room  of  its  kind;  washstand,  bowl, 
towels  and  rack,  and  cheap  dresser. 

The  landlady  was  summoned.  She  was  more 
surprised  than  Lanagan  or  the  chief.  She  had  not 
seen  the  girl  return;  had  not  seen  the  pair  depart; 
had  believed  that  the  man  was  too  sick  to  leave  his 
bed. 

Galvanic  Leslie,  within  an  hour,  had  men  at  the 
ferry  building,  at  the  Third  and  Townsend  Street 
Depot,  covering  every  boathouse  that  had  launches 
or  tugs  for  hire;  the  suburban  electric  lines  were 
covered  and  the  country  roads  leading  south.  The 
great  mantrap  that  so  easily  can  be  thrown  around 
the  peninsula  of  San  Francisco,  the  trap  that  time 
and  again  has  caught  the  thieves  of  the  world  when 
they  have  fled  for  haven  to  the  Western  Coast 
metropolis,  was  set.  And  yet  so  quietly  was  the 
work  done,  so  implicitly  had  Leslie  impressed  upon 
every  district  captain,  every  detective,  every  patrol 
man  concerned  with  the  story,  the  necessity  for 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  17 

absolute  secrecy  that  not  one  of  the  other  great 
papers  of  San  Francisco  knew  that  the  jaws  of  that 
trap  were  gaping  hungrily.  Probably  there  was  no 
reporter  save  Lanagan  who  could  have  broken  into 
that  story  once  Leslie  had  commanded  his  men  to 
secrecy.  They  knew  what  disloyalty  to  that  dis 
ciplinarian  meant  too  well  to  trifle  with  him. 

Within  the  city  proper,  plain-clothes  men  by 
shoals  flooded  every  hotel  and  lodging  house  that 
might  by  any  possibility  harbour  the  pair.  The  hos 
pitals  were  watched;  half  a  dozen  doctors  known 
to  Leslie  worked  among  their  professional  brothers, 
but  no  one  was  attending  such  a  man  as  Turner. 

And  the  wonder  grew  to  Lanagan  that  the  story, 
scattered  now  well  over  the  city,  was  even  yet  escap 
ing  the  innumerable  sources  of  news  of  the  Times 
and  the  braggart  Herald,  to  say  nothing  of  the  even 
ing  papers,  the  Record  and  the  Tribune.  In  such 
fashion,  though,  by  grace  of  newspaper  luck,  are 
the  greatest  successes  scored  after  they  have  knocked 
around  under  the  very  feet  of  half  the  newspaper 
men  of  a  city. 

Of  that  army  of  plain-clothes  men  none  worked 
harder  than  Lanagan.  For  days  I  did  not  see  him. 
Sometimes  I  would  locate  him  in  the  foulest  sinks 
of  the  Barbary  Coast  or  Chinatown.  Here,  with 
products  brewed  in  some  witch's  caldron,  he  would 
be  in  fraternity,  trying  ceaselessly  to  tap  that  under 
ground  wire  by  which  the  convict  bayed  in  a  great 
city  sends  word  to  his  kind.  But  always  he  failed. 


i8  LANAGAN 

"Kid"  Monahan  laboured  in  vain;  "Red" 
Murphy,  credited  with  knowing  more  thieves  than 
all  the  coast  saloon  men  put  together,  could  secure 
no  trace;  Turner,  or  Short,  had  found  no  refuge  in 
the  hutches  of  the  drug  or  the  opium  fiends. 
Lanagan  met  men  who  should  have  been  in  San 
Quentin ;  one  night  he  crossed  "  Slivers  "  Martin, 
who  had  broken  from  a  deputy  sheriff  and  escaped 
a  ten-year  sentence. 

Slivers  was  waiting  until  he  could  get  out  of  the 
city.  Yet  even  Slivers  knew  nothing  of  such  a  one 
as  Turner.  Finally  Lanagan  turned  his  attention  to 
the  residence  sections. 

At  times  he  would  drag  me  with  him.  For  hours 
he  would  ramble  up  one  street  and  down  another, 
always  trying  the  fruit  stands,  the  grocery  stores, 
the  delicatessen  stores,  and  always  he  asked  one 
question :  Did  a  blond  young  woman,  with  dark  blue 
eyes,  blue  tailored  suit,  quick,  nervous  walk,  come 
in  and  buy  nuts,  particularly  almonds?  A  dozen 
times  the  answer  was  yes.  And  when  the  customer 
was  not  known  to  the  proprietor,  Lanagan  would 
take  up  his  watch,  tireless,  indefatigable,  and  wait 
until  that  person  appeared  or  passed  on  the  street. 
Always  he  met  with  failure. 

Lanagan,  always  gaunt,  became  cadaverous. 
For  four  days  I  lost  him.  I  worried  and  spent  my 
nights  trying  to  locate  him,  but  his  old  haunts 
knew  him  not.  One  day  there  came  a  call  for  me. 

"You,  Norrie?"     It  was  Lanagan's  voice;  it 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  19 

sounded  thin  and  tired.  "  I've  landed.  Come  to 
Eddy  and  Van  Ness.  Got  your  gun?" 

A  quick  shiver  went  over  me.  The  climax  had 
come.  I  borrowed  Sampson's  gun,  having  left 
mine  home. 

"  Heard  from  Lanagan,  have  you  ?  "  asked  that 
austere  individual.  I  nodded.  "Has  he  landed? 
Yes?  Good  luck,"  said  Sampson,  his  eyes  spark 
ling.  He  knew  that  Lanagan's  pride,  after  the  first 
fiasco,  prevented  his  ringing  up  until  the  story  was 
clinched. 

"  Give  Lanagan  my  regards.  Let  us  hear  from 
you.  It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  either  you  or  Lana 
gan  to  do  your  best  for  speed." 

Sampson,  reckoned  the  coldest-blooded  city 
editor  in  the  West,  was  yet  the  most  responsive  to 
a  story.  He  was  a  driver,  but  he  knew  how  to 
humour  men.  I  disliked  him  personally,  and  would 
avoid  him  out  of  the  office,  but  in  harness  would 
have  worked  both  legs  to  the  ankle  for  him.  Most 
of  the  men  on  his  staff  had  that  fanatical  loyalty 
for  him  as  a  city  editor;  yet  outside  they  seldom 
spoke  of  him  save  to  damn.  Curious  breed,  re 
porters. 

To  his  credit  as  a  city  editor,  in  all  of  those  two 
weeks  he  had  not  complained.  He  spoke  about 
Lanagan  to  me  only  twice.  He  knew  I  was  wor 
ried,  and  knew,  I  think,  that  I  had  spent  many  a 
night  searching  for  him,  finally  to  appear  for  work 
without  sleep.  But  he  knew  that  Lanagan  was  out 


20  LANAGAN 

for  the  paper  first,  last,  and  all  the  time;  knew  that 
that  bloodhound  quality  of  sticking  to  the  trail 
would  never  let  him  quit  till  he  had  proved  that 
there  was  no  way  of  landing  the  story. 

Lanagan's  appearance  shocked  me.  He  had  not 
shaved  for  a  week.  Rings  were  under  his  eyes,  red- 
lidded  for  want  of  sleep.  His  pale  cheeks  held  an 
unhealthy  flush  and  he  coughed  once  or  twice  in  a 
fashion  I  did  not  like,  but  that  old  magnetic  smile 
was  there. 

"  Scared  as  a  rabbit,  I'll  bet,  and  wishing  you'd 
insured  your  life  first,"  he  laughed,  pulling  me  into 
a  doorway.  Then,  more  seriously,  "  Norrie,  I'm 
just  a  wandering  hulk,  a  derelict ;  whatever  you  will. 
My  passing  would  be  nothing  to  a  soul  on  earth." 

I  had  never  heard  Lanagan  speak  in  that  way. 

"  No  soul  on  earth,"  he  repeated. 

Then  he  swept  me  with  those  luminous  eyes  of 
his,  and  they  were  as  clear  and  as  unclouded  as  my 
own.  I  knew  that  I  had  caught  a  swift  glimpse 
as  the  shutter  opened  upon  the  vista  of  his  past; 
that  secret  past  that  now  I  understood. 

!For  a  moment  I  was  conscious  of  nothing  save 
that  this  man  whom  I  loved  like  a  brother  was  in 
pain  and  I  could  do  nothing  for  him.  With  his 
swift  perceptions,  Lanagan  had  caught  my  mood 
and  our  hands  met ;  that  lean,  sinewy  hand  was  as 
firm  as  steel.  Then,  with  his  facile  art,  he  had 
thrown  aside  his  humour  of  introspection  and  spoke 
briskly. 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  21 

"  Norrie,  I  don't  want  to  tangle  you  with  this 
against  your  will.  This  man,  I  believe,  is  the  hard 
est  game  this  city  has  held  in  my  time  or  yours. 
He  will  die  with  his  stockings  on.  It  looks  like 
gun  play." 

Frankly,  I  was  for  quitting,  inwardly.  Out 
wardly,  because  of  that  mesmeric  way  of  his,  that 
teasing,  superior  tone,  I  was  all  for  the  climax. 
Besides,  I  did  not  want  to  leave  him  to  himself  in 
that  humour  to  go  into  a  mess ;  I  knew  his  reckless 
ways  too  well. 

We  walked  rapidly  up  Eddy  Street  and  turned 
on  Franklin  until  near  the  corner  of  O'Farrell, 
where,  entering  a  flat,  Lanagan  led  the  way  to  the 
top  story.  Here  we  entered  an  unfinished  alcove 
room  in  the  rear  with  a  dormer  window  covered 
by  a  heavy  curtain  of  burlap.  The  slightest  pos 
sible  rent  had  been  made  in  the  curtain.  Lanagan 
told  me  to  look.  Opposite  was  a  dormer  window 
corresponding  to  our  own,  the  next  house  being 
one  of  similar  design.  The  alley  between  was  pos 
sibly  ten  feet.  Our  window  was  the  only  one  that 
could  command  the  other. 

In  the  opposite  house  the  curtain  was  of  ordi 
nary  heavy  lace.  After  peering  intently  for  a  time, 
I  could  distinguish  through  it  a  woman's  figure  and 
a  bed,  upon  which  a  form  could  be  discerned. 

"  There  you  are,  Norrie.  That  man  shows  his 
caliber  by  moving  round  the  corner  from  his  former 
home  while  the  police  look  for  him  elsewhere.  He 


22  LANAGAN 

knows  by  now  the  police  descriptions  are  here ;  that 
I  must  have  recognised  him,  and  that  the  hunt  is 
on.  My  almond  trail  landed  when  I  came  back  to 
this  territory  just  on  the  final  chance  that  the  man 
was  big  enough  to  figure  out  that  his  surest  safety 
lay  right  here.  She  has  been  out  but  a  few  times, 
buying  those  eternal  almonds.  Malted  milk  has 
been  added  to  his  diet,  too.  I  picked  her  up,  trailed 
her,  and  the  rest  was  easy. 

"  The  man's  stomach  is  gone.  Incidentally,  they 
owe  a  week's  rent  there,  and  she  is  living  mostly  on 
almonds  now,  too ;  so  I  guess  the  exchequer  is  pretty 
low.  I  didn't  suppose  there  were  any  more  women 
left  in  the  world  like  that.  This  girl,  born  of  good 
family,  daughter  of  a  minister,  takes  up  with  that 
triple-stained  murderer  and  sticks.  She  surely  took 
that  honour  and  obey  in  epic  earnest  —  if  she  mar 
ried  him;  if  not,  why,  the  more  credit  to  her  for 
sticking.  .  .  . 

"  It  isn't  for  us  to  judge,  Norrie.  Keep  your 
eye  glued  to  that  hole  while  I  go  into  the  next  room 
—  I've  rented  this  attic,  by  the  way  —  and  grind 
out  copy." 

It  was  four  o'clock  then ;  at  nine  Lanagan  ceased 
writing.  He  had  made  in  longhand  6,000  words  of 
as  clean-cut,  brilliant  a  narrative  story  of  its  kind 
as,  under  similar  pressure,  has  ever  appeared  in 
print.  As  in  all  of  Lanagan's  stories,  it  was  "  the 
police  "  who  had  -learned  this  and  that.  Lanagan 
has  made  several  detective  sergeants  in  his  time. 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  23 

"  Leslie  will  meet  us  here  at  one  o'clock.  We 
must  keep  the  smash  until  two,  fire  the  story  at 
Sampson  by  telephone  to  lead  off  my  stuff  with; 
hold  them  in  the  room  until  three,  and  we  beat  the 
town  again." 

He  hurried  out  to  return  in  half  an  hour.  He 
had  telephoned  to  Sampson  that  the  story  would 
break  about  two  o'clock  and  to  hold  the  paper  until 
he  had  heard  from  us;  then  he  had  sent  his  copy 
down  by  messenger  boy  and  loaded  up  on  a  bundle 
of  the  choicest  of  the  rank  brand  of  Manilas  he 
chose  at  times  to  affect.  I  noticed  as  he  lit  a  match 
that  his  hands  shook.  I  wanted  him  to  lie  down 
until  one,  but  his  only  answer  was  to  fix  me  with 
those  eyes  of  his,  glowing  like  a  cat's  in  the  dark 
ness  (we  were  smoking  with  the  lighted  ends  of  our 
cigars  held  inside  our  hats,  so  careful  was  Lanagan 
lest  any  trace  be  given  to  the  opposite  room),  and 
he  laughed  that  curious  laugh  of  his. 

"  When  this  is  over,  Norrie,"  he  said,  "  I'll  sleep 
for  a  week.  Half  that  $5,000  is  mine;  you  and 
Leslie  and  the  others  can  divide  the  rest." 

Really,  I  saw  Lanagan  in  my  mind's  eye  already 
snooping  and  prying  around  those  Paris  byways ;  it 
sounded  too  assured  as  he  said  it.  I  wondered 
whether  I  cared  for  blood  money;  figured  that  I 
would  accept  it,  and  began  pleasantly  in  the  gloom 
to  spend  my  "  bit  "  with  much  contentment.  I  con 
cluded  I  would  accompany  Lanagan  on  that  Paris 
trip. 


24  LANAGAN 

One  o'clock  came,  and  with  it  Leslie,  Brady,  Wil 
son,  and  Maloney.  Brady  was  put  at  the  aperture. 
A  faint  light  in  the  opposite  room  brought  the  two 
figures  out  into  bold  relief.  The  rest  of  us  moved 
to  the  outer  room,  where  the  plainclothes  men 
slipped  their  revolvers  to  their  side  coat  pockets.  I 
wished  lonesomely  that  I  had  brought  two  and  that 
I  might  feel  braver,  although  I  had  as  much  chance 
of  shooting  a  revolver  with  my  left  hand  without 
disaster  as  of  sailing  an  aeroplane  with  either.  At 
that  I  believe  I  would  have  felt  more  in  the  picture 
with  two. 

The  plan  was  to  pull  a  fire  alarm,  and  as  soon 
as  the  engines  clattered  into  the  street,  scatter  to  the 
top  story,  rap  on  the  door  as  if  to  warn  the  occu 
pants,  take  them  off  their  guard  when  the  door  was 
opened,  and  the  thing  was  done.  That  programme 
was  carried  out.  When  the  apparatus  swung  up 
from  O'Farrell,  filling  the  still  night  air  with  those 
strident  bells  of  terror  and  alarm,  we  sped  to  the 
top  floor  and  made  the  corridor. 

"Fire!    Fire!" 

It  was  Brady's  hoarse  voice;  and  even  I  thrilled, 
it  was  done  so  realistically.  I,  as  the  one  most 
likely  unknown  to  the  pair,  had  been  selected  to  take 
their  door.  I  rapped  loudly  and  shouted  the  alarm. 
Brady  was  on  one  side  of  me,  Lanagan  on  the  other. 
Wilson,  Maloney,  and  the  chief  on  either  side  again 
in  the  dark  hall,  flattened  to  the  wall,  guns  drawn 
ready  for  the  rush.  The  door  opened  six  inches- 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  25 

a  startled,  wan  face  with  lustrous  blue  eyes,  shin 
ing  vividly  above  deep  circles  of  black,  looked  into 
mine  through  the  aperture.  Possibly  something  in 
my  face,  possibly  native  suspicion  and  fear,  induced 
her  to  essay  to  slam  the  door.  I  pushed  my 
shoulder  to  the  door  and  shoved,  Brady  at  one 
shoulder,  Lanagan  at  the  other.  She  gave  back 
with  one  more  wide-eyed  look  that  went  over  my 
shoulder  and  caught  the  grey-bearded  chief,  known 
to  her,  huddled  back  for  fear  of  that  very  thing. 

There  came  one  shrill  scream:  "Harry!  The 
police !  "  and  she  had  turned  and  fled  and  we  pushed 
in  vain  —  the  door  was  chained !  One  united  crash 
again,  the  fastenings  gave  just  as  the  slight  figure, 
quicker  than  a  swallow,  had  darted  within  the  inner 
room  and  slammed  the  door  shut  in  our  faces.  A 
bolt  shot  to  place  as  a  bullet  from  within  tore 
through  the  panelling  and  clipped  the  rim  of  Brady's 
hat,  and  that  towering  figure  bore  back  out  of  range 
and  swung  us  in  a  mass  with  him.  Two  more  shots 
tore  through  and  sprayed  us  with  splinters.  We 
flattened  against  the  wall. 

"The  jig  is  up,  Short;  you  may  as  well  come 
out." 

It  was  Leslie,  calm  as  if  he  were  delivering  orders 
to  his  chauffeur.  A  shot  rewarded  him,  impinging 
perilously  close  to  his  shoulder.  The  man  within 
was  dying  with  the  convict's  last  desperate  ambition 
to  take  a  policeman  with  him.  We  dropped  flat. 
There  was  a  pause,  while  Brady  and  Leslie  coun- 


26  LANAGAN 

selled  in  whispers  whether  to  risk  a  rush.  The 
silence  became  acute,  punctuated  now  and  then  by 
whisperings  from  the  inner  room. 

It  sounded  as  if  she  were  pleading  with  him;  his 
note  of  finality  could  not  be  mistaken,  although  the 
words  were  not  heard.  Another  silence,  and  then 
to  our  straining  ears,  rising  clearly  above  the  din 
and  clamour  of  doors  below  stairs  opening  and  shut 
ting,  of  shoutings  and  excited  cries,  came  a  tremb 
ling  voice  floating  through  the  jagged  holes  of  the 
inner  door  —  trembling  with  the  strength  or  the 
ardour  of  a  determination  rather  than  any  dread  or 
fear: 

"  Then,  Harry,  take  me,  too !     Take  me,  too !  " 

"No,  Cecile,no!" 

There  was  silence  again  from  within;  and  again 
that  voice,  now  touched  with  pleading  still  more 
earnest : 

"  It  is  only  right,  Harry  dear ;  all  that  the  world 
held  I  sacrificed  for  you.  If  you  don't  take  me,  I 
will  follow  you !  " 

Prolonged  to  acuteness  became  the  silence  again; 
the  man's  voice,  hoarse,  gasping,  finally  came: 

"  Pray,  Cecile." 

And  again  that  voice,  trembling,  yet  clear  as  the 
beautiful  sweeping  chords  of  a  harp,  came  floating 
with  the  acrid  revolver  smoke  through  the  jagged, 
ugly  rents  in  the  panelling,  and  seemed  to  flood  the 
room  with  something  almost  like  a  visible  radiance : 

"  Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven! " 


WHITHER  THOU  GOEST  27 

I  saw  Maloney,  his  blue-nosed  revolver  in  hand, 
half  risen,  make  the  sign  of  the  adoration,  touching 
his  forehead  and  his  chest  with  that  grim  muzzle. 
Leslie  stood  slowly  upright,  his  massive  head  sunk 
into  his  breast.  Lanagan  breathed  hard  and  deep. 
It  was  awesome;  we  were  held  in  the  spell  of  that 
strange  and  extraordinary  occurrence.  On  that 
beautiful  voice  went  to  the  end: 

"  And  lead  us  not  into  temptation;  but  deliver  us 
from  evil.  Amen." 

"Amen!"  echoed  the  murderer's  choking  voice. 

"  The  door!     To  save  her!  " 

It  was  Leslie's  electric  whisper,  and  at  his  signal 
we  crashed  with  our  united  strength.  With  the 
crashing  came  two  shots,  and  I  caught  Lanagan's 
harsh  curse  at  my  ear  and  his  swift  mutter :  "  Too 
late !  "  The  door  gave. 

She  knelt  with  her  head  fallen  upon  her  clasped 
hands,  just  as  she  had  knelt  in  that  final  prayer,  be 
side  the  bed.  He  was  lying  back  upon  the  pillow. 

There  was  no  dry  eye  there.  Veteran  thief- 
takers,  men  who  had  stood  with  their  backs  to  the 
wall  and  death  baying  them  a  score  of  times;  men 
who  would  risk  the  billy  or  knife  or  gun  as  blithely 
as  they  would  go  to  their  morning  meal;  to  whom 
suffering  and  violence  and  death  were  daily  allot 
ments,  bowed  themselves  before  the  melancholy  end 
of  that  misguided  girl. 

Yet  possibly,  for  her,  it  was  better  so. 

It  was  Lanagan's  voice  that  brought  me  back. 


28  LANAGAN 

Lanagan,  answering  the  newspaper  call,  with  the 
dominant  newspaper  demand  still  strong  upon  him 
and  over  him;  Lanagan,  quick  with  instinctive 
thought  for  the  high-strung,  chafing  Sampson  down 
at  the  Enquirer  office  and  the  press  waiting  for 
the  release  gong;  Lanagan,  the  genius  of  his  craft, 
asserting  once  again  his  incomparable  newspaper 
superiority  to  me,  still  dreaming  the  precious  sec 
onds  away  at  the  pathetic  fate  of  that  poor  piece  of 
clay  kneeling  there ;  Lanagan,  crisply  as  a  colonel  in 
the  field,  snapped: 

"  Scatter,  Norrie,  for  a  'phone! " 


II 

THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT 


II 

THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT 

JACK  LANAGAN  had  a  Sunday  off,  the  first  in 
weeks.  A  man  of  whim  and  caprice  in  his 
leisure  moments,  he  had  made  no  plans.  This  Sun 
day  morning,  after  idly  reading  the  morning  papers, 
rolling  and  consuming  innumerable  brown  paper* 
cigarettes  meanwhile,  he  finally  sallied  forth  in  his 
ill-fitting  clothes  toward  the  Palace  grill  and  break 
fast.  And  this  being  luxuriously  ended,  he  was 
laved  and  shaved  to  his  heart's  content.  Then,  per 
fumed  like  a  boulevardier,  he  issued  forth  into  Mar 
ket  Street  to  join  that  morning  throng  drifting  down 
toward  the  ferry  building  for  the  institutional  Sun 
day  outing  across  the  bay.  He  permitted  himself 
to  drift  with  the  current,  perfectly  and  vastly  at 
ease  with  all  the  world.  He  had  switched  from 
cigarettes  to  an  evil  Manila,  poisoning  the  air  cheer 
fully  for  yards  around  him.  Lanagan  rather  en 
joyed  the  exclusiveness  given  him  by  his  noisome 
cigars. 

Rourke,  Fleming,  and  little  Johnny  O'Grady  of 
the  Herald,  with  a  camera  man,  whirled  out  of  Mar 
ket  Street  in  an  automobile,  and  Lanagan  jerked 
alertly  round  to  watch  them  out  of  sight,  speculat- 

3i 


32  LANAGAN 

ing  as  to  what  the  story  might  be.  He  had  half 
determined  to  drift  over  to  the  office,  when  Truck 
One  swung  into  Market  Street  from  O'Farrell. 
Other  fire  apparatus  was  swinging  into  and  out  of 
Market  Street,  clanging  stridently,  and  Lanagan 
turned  again  to  the  ferry.  Fires  interested  him  but 
little.  Always  the  chance,  he  remarked  once  to  me 
fastidiously,  of  some  chump  of  a  fireman  squirting 
water  all  over  you,  which  spoiled  your  clothes.  I 
never  knew  whether  Lanagan  was  having  a  quiet 
joke  in  that  or  not.  His  entire  wardrobe  would 
have  been  scorned  by  a  rag  picker. 

He  had  been  puffing  his  oakum  industriously,  and 
now  was  attracted  by  the  spectacle  of  a  man  beside 
him  nearly  doubled  over  with  a  fit  of  coughing.  He 
was  shaking  and  beating  at  his  breast  with  large, 
bony  hands,  and  Lanagan  noted  professionally  the 
rheumatic  knuckles  and  the  nails  like  claws,  yellow 
and  dirty.  His  breath  came  in  sharp  whistles, 
short  and  staccato,  and  he  was  taking  possibly  a 
third  of  a  normal  respiration  at  a  time. 

A  particularly  violent  paroxysm,  followed  by  all 
evidences  of  entire  suspension  of  breath,  brought 
Lanagan  to  the  man's  side  with  a  leap.  He  swung 
the  huddled  form  against  a  hydrant. 

"  Here  you ! "  he  called,  to  a  passer-by,  "  call 
Douglas  20  and  tell  them  to  shoot  the  harbour  am 
bulance  up  here."  To  himself  he  said:  "  This  man 
is  sick.  He  needs  attention  and  needs  it  quick." 

But  at  the  words  the  hunched,  choking  figure 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  33 

straightened  spasmodically,  flashing  a  look  upon 
Lanagan  that  Lanagan,  used  to  malevolence  in  all 
its  forms  expressed  upon  features  the  most  evil,  had 
not  seen  quite  equalled.  Accustomed  to  the  ill-fea 
tured  and  repulsive  as  they  strain  through  the  bars 
at  the  city  prison,  yet  even  Lanagan  started  back 
momentarily  in  revulsion. 

"  I  have  seen  misers,"  thought  Lanagan,  "  but 
this  is  the  real  miser  of  all  fact  and  all  fiction.  I 
would  know  him  in  a  million.  Fellow  I  used  to  see 
in  my  dreams  when  I  was  a  youngster.  Pneumonia 
sure.  About  six  hours  for  him  and  then  six  feet." 

Thus  lightly  diagnosing  and  disposing  of  the  man 
and  his  case,  Lanagan  motioned  the  citizen,  who 
had  meantime  stopped,  to  go  on  with  the  call.  But 
the  strange,  gnomelike  figure,  flashing  another  look, 
a  singular  blend  of  loathing,  hate,  fear,  and  timidity, 
upon  the  newspaper  man,  started  to  hobble  away. 
Lanagan  dropped  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder  to 
restrain  him.  But  the  harsh  features  turned  a  look 
so  glowering  and  repellent  upon  him  that  he  with 
drew  the  restraining  hand.  The  coughing  had 
ceased.  The  little  old  man  was  still  breathing 
sibilantly  and  swiftly,  rather  like  a  panting  dog  or 
cat,  which  he  suggested,  but  by  extraordinary  effort 
of  will  had  fought  away  the  more  violent  exhibition 
of  his  seizure.  He  commenced  to  shuffle  down  the 
street,  with  one  furtive,  fearful,  backward  look  that 
went  on  past  Lanagan  and  up  Market  Street. 

"  You    need    a   hospital,    man,"    said   Lanagan 


34  LANAGAN 

curtly,  "  and  I'm  going  to  take  you  ttiere.  Wait." 
He  placed  his  hand  again  on  the  man's  shoulder. 
But  the  manikin-like  creature  flung  the  hand  vi 
ciously  from  him  and  again  flashed  that  strange  look 
of  blended  hate,  fear,  and  timidity  upon  the  news 
paper  man. 

"  Let  be !  "  he  grated.     "  Let  be !  " 

A  car  clanged  to  the  safety  station.  The  gro 
tesque  figure,  still  half-hunched  over  at  the  paroxysm 
from  Lanagan's  Manila,  started  for  it  and  Lanagan 
made  no  further  effort  at  detention.  He  climbed 
laboriously  to  the  platform,  and  Lanagan  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  I  certainly  am  not  going  to  dry-nurse  you,  old 
man,  but  I  ought  to  at  that.  If  I  ever  saw  a  man 
marked  for  death,  you're  that  man." 

Despite  a  long  afternoon  idled  away  beneath 
mine  host  Pastori's  shade  trees  and  the  somnolent 
influence  of  cobwebbed  Chianti,  Lanagan  found  his 
miser's  features  constantly  before  him. 

"  He's  my  miser,  too,"  he  mused,  in  the  vernacu 
lar  of  childhood.  "  I  shouldn't  have  let  him  escape 
me  after  finding  him." 

Returning  late,  Lanagan  for  once  in  his  life  went 
to  his  room  without  his  inevitable  last  call  at  police 
headquarters.  Consequently  he  was  several  hours 
late  in  the  morning  on  the  news  of  a  very  fine  police 
story  when  he  awakened  to  find  his  miser  —  Thad- 
deus  Miller  of  Oakland  —  pictured  on  the  front 
pages  of  all  the  morning  papers.  There  was  no 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  35 

mistaking  that  face.  It  was  his  miser.  He  had 
been  murdered  in  his  cabin,  a  clumsy  attempt  having 
been  made  to  fire  the  cabin  to  destroy  the  crime  and 
its  evidence. 

A  young  clerk,  a  neighbour  to  the  miser,  was  un 
der  arrest.  It  appeared  that  the  clerk,  James  Wat 
son,  was  found  named  in  the  will  as  sole  legatee  to 
an  estate  valued  at  close  to  a  quarter  of  a  million 
dollars.  Upon  the  Watson  porch  had  been  found 
a  hammer,  freshly  washed,  the  handle  not  yet  dry. 
But  clinging  to  the  claws,  unobserved  by  whoever 
had  washed  the  blood  from  the  hammer,  were  two 
strands  of  white  hair  that  brought  the  hammer 
home  to  the  crime  in  the  cabin.  Watson,  the  stories 
related,  had  only  known  Miller  for  a  few  months. 
He  had  been  seen  leaving  the  cottage  shortly  be 
fore  eight  o'clock.  The  fire  was  discovered 
smouldering  at  nine-thirty  o'clock,  extinguished,  and 
Miller  found  with  his  skull  crushed,  lying  on  a 
kerosene-soaked  bunk,  to  which,  fortunately,  the 
clumsily  started  fire  had  not  yet  communicated. 

Watson  had  made  a  bad  case  out  for  himself  in 
itially  by  denying  that  he  had  seen  Miller  at  all  that 
day  or  knowing  that  he  was  named  in  the  will. 
When  confronted  by  neighbours  who  had  seen  him 
leaving  the  cottage  and  one  neighbour  who  had 
heard  his  wife  speak  of  the  will,  he  took  refuge  in 
protestations  that  he  had  denied  everything  through 
fear  and  terror.  He  then  admitted  owning  the 
hammer,  but  professed  himself  at  a  loss  to  account 


36  LANAGAN 

for  the  fact  of  its  having  been  freshly  washed  and 
of  the  strands  of  gray  hair. 

Raving  his  innocence,  he  had  come  to  the  verge 
of  physical  collapse.  He  repeated  constantly  the 
name  of  his  wife  and  begged  the  police  to  bring  her 
to  him.  But  he  was  being  held  in  strict  "  detinue," 
the  papers  said,  until  the  third  degree  was  given  him. 
At  the  time  of  going  to  press  confession  was  ex 
pected  momentarily. 

Mrs.  Watson,  after  a  police  examination,  had 
been  permitted  to  return  to  her  home.  Her  story 
was  that  both  she  and  her  husband  had  befriended 
Miller  on  different  occasions,  out  of  pity  for  his 
forlorn  and  miserable  condition.  She  admitted 
that  on  one  occasion  he  had  jocularly  remarked  that 
he  would  not  forget  her  husband  in  his  will,  but  had 
attached  no  importance  to  his  remark.  She  had 
never  heard  him  speak  of  any  person  that  he  feared. 
She  admitted  that  her  husband  had  visited  Watson 
at  his  cabin  in  the  evening,  but  that  the  circumstance 
was  not  unusual.  He  had  remained  but  a  moment, 
Miller  being  in  an  unusually  morose  mood  —  had 
been  so,  in  fact,  for  three  or  four  days.  She  was 
at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  condition  of  the  ham 
mer. 

"  And  yet,"  growled  Lanagan,  "  I'm  eternally 
doomed  if  I  think  either  of  them  did  it.  That  fel 
low  gave  me  a  look  that  spelled  fear;  abject,  abnor 
mal  fear;  it  was  the  concentration  of  the  fear  of  a 
lifetime1  of  a  hare  who  runs  with  the  dogs  always 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  37 

at  his  heels.  And  it  was  not  fear  of  the  Watsons 
either." 

Lanagan,  stopping  at  the  office  only  long  enough 
to  receive  instructions,  made  the  narrow-gauge 
ferry  by  bowling  over  an  obstreperous  ticket-taker 
who  tried  to  shut  the  gate  in  his  face.  Not  that 
there  was  any  particular  need  for  such  spectacular 
haste;  it  was  merely  Lanagan's  way;  Lanagan 
"  showing  off,"  as  some  of  his  professional  brothers 
would  invidiously  have  it.  But  I,  who  knew  him 
better  than  any  news  writer  in  the  business,  say  not. 
Lanagan  was  a  genuine  eccentric.  And  in  this  par 
ticular  case  he  was  fighting  for  time.  Bitter  ex 
perience  had  taught  him  the  value  of  minutes.  In 
deed,  a  cardinal  rule  of  his  business  that  Lanagan 
sought  to  drive  into  my  slower  newspaper  intelli 
gence  was  to  get  on  the  ground  first. 

Lanagan  knew  of  old  that  every  city  editor  in 
town  would  be  accepting  the  very  plausible  police 
version,  and  would  be  awaiting  the  expected  con 
fession  from  Watson.  Watson  might  confess,  but, 
Lanagan  had  a  sullen  "  hunch  "  that  he  wouldn't. 

Lanagan  moved  most  of  the  time  by  "  hunches," 
as  many  successful  newspaper  men  —  to  say  noth 
ing  of  detectives  —  do.  Hunches  and  luck  may 
be  called  by  such  fancy  brands  as  inductive  or  de 
ductive,  intensive  or  extensive  analytical  capacity; 
but  in  the  long  run  most  crimes  are  solved  on  luck, 
hunches,  and  through  the  invaluable  aid  of  police 
"  stool  pigeons,"  more  politely  known  as  "  sources." 


38  LANAGAN 

An  intuitive  judgment  of  men  is  about  as  good  an 
asset  as  a  reporter  or  detective  can  have,  coupled 
with  a  faculty  for  quick  decision  and  personal 
bravery. 

More  than  any  one  thing,  it  was  possibly  this 
faculty  for  swift  intuitive  analysis  that  carried 
Lanagan  to  his  high  degree  of  success.  However, 
man  and  man's  judgments  are  fallible;  it  was  so 
ordered  in  the  original  scheme  of  things,  for  very 
obvious  reasons. 

Lanagan  went  directly  to  the  Watson  cottage. 
The  brilliant  American  police  system  had  permitted 
some  scores  of  curious  and  morbid  persons  to 
trample  over  every  inch  of  ground  within  a  hun 
dred  yards  of  the  Miller  hut.  Privileged  friends 
of  the  patrolman  on  guard  there,  after  the  tradi 
tional  American  custom  also,  had  been  permitted 
to  slip  inside  and  paw  over  the  belongings  and  stare 
to  their  hearts'  content.  Lanagan  knew  of  old 
what  the  situation  there  would  be.  That  could 
wait.  He  was  more  concerned  with  having  the  first 
meeting  of  the  day  with  Mrs.  Watson. 

It  was  a  modest  little  "  bungalow  style  "  of  home 
that  he  approached,  much  like  that  of  any  one  of 
thousands  of  small-salaried  men  in  the  transbay 
suburban  sections.  An  air  of  good  taste,  neatness, 
and  care  in  the  trim  little  lawn,  the  cleanliness  of 
the  walks,  stairs  and  porch,  and  the  precision  with 
which  all  of  the  shades  were  drawn  against  the 
morning  sun,  marked  it  possibly  a  bit  more  in- 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  39 

dividual  than  many  of  its  kind.  Mrs.  Watson  her 
self  opened  the  door  to  his  ring.  She  bore  the  out 
ward  evidence  of  grief.  Her  eyes  were  red  and 
swollen,  her  cheeks  hectic,  her  hair  disheveled.  She 
was  blond,  with  large  blue  eyes,  set  possibly  a  line 
too  closely  together,  chiseled  nose,  delicate,  shapely 
ears,  saving  the  lobe  was  not  quite  as  free  as  an 
exact  taste  would  require,  and  a  well-moulded  chin. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Lanagan  of  the  Enquirer,"  he  said, 
adding  some  words  of  apology.  He  had  a  way  with 
women  —  and  with  men  as  well  —  when  he  so  de 
sired,  that  was  singularly  ingratiating;  a  soft  trick 
of  speech,  an  ingenuousness  of  manner,  a  certain 
dignity  that  seemed  to  lift  him  from  the  mean  at 
mosphere  of  his  ill-fitting  clothes  and  marked  him 
with  personality. 

"  You  may  come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Watson. 

As  he  followed  her  to  the  parlour  and  she  lifted 
the  shades,  he  noticed  that  she  was  of  good  figure, 
rather  lithe  in  her  movements,  laced  well  in  for  a 
housewife  unappareled  for  the  street,  not  more  than 
three-and-twenty,  and  that  she  walked  with  that 
scarcely  perceptible  lift  of  the  shoulders  and  swing 
of  the  hips  that  denotes  a  woman  not  entirely  uncon 
scious,  even  in  the  stress  of  melancholy  circum 
stances,  of  the  gaze  of  a  man ;  a  suggestion  of  affec 
tation,  the  unmistakable  mark  of  a  woman  inclined 
by  temperament  to  be  naturally  frivolous;  or  even, 
upon  occasion,  reckless.  He  noticed,  too,  that  she 
wore  French  heels. 


40  LANAGAN 

"  Curious  type  certainly,"  commented  Lanagan 
mentally.  "  Sort  of  a  domesticated  coryphee;  with 
the  homing  instinct  implanted  where  the  wanderlust 
was  planted  in  her  sisters.  One  who  has  settled 
into  marriage  where  her  like  settle,  with  as  little 
concern,  into  the  round  circle  of  the  night  lights. 
Everything  different  except  that  generic  vanity. 
Rather  an  odd  mating  for  a  clerk,  and  a  plodder 
at  that,  to  judge  from  his  picture,"  thought  Lan 
agan. 

Lanagan  sat  with  his  back  to  the  window,  put 
ting  Mrs.  Watson  in  the  full  light. 

"  Is  there  anything  you  can  say,  Mrs.  Watson, 
that  could  throw  any  light  upon  this  affair?  Any 
enemies  that  Miller  ever  spoke  about  ?  Any  visitors 
that  he  has  had  of  late?  Any  letters  or  other  mes 
sages  that  he  received  ?  Any  threats  ?  " 

She  threw  both  hands  forth  with  a  despairing 
gesture. 

"  Nothing,  nothing!  "  she  moaned,  as  tears  came. 
"  It  is  terrible,  terrible !  He  is  innocent,  innocent 
I  say !  I  know  he  is  innocent !  I  know  it !  " 

She  sobbed  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  sud 
den  gesture  of  determination,  straightened  up,  dried 
her  eyes,  and  composed  herself. 

Lanagan  had  been  watching  her  with  eyes  that 
seemed  to  narrow  and  lessen  to  little  black  beads. 
His  ears,  gifted  with  abnormal  power  for  receiving 
and  disintegrating  into  each  component  shade  of 
meaning  or  emotion  the  tones  of  the  human  voice, 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  41 

drank  in  every  word  that  she  uttered,  marked  each 
sob  that  shook  her  form. 

"  You  do  not  believe  your  husband  guilty,  do 
you?" 

Her  lips  parted  in  an  exclamation  of  protest,  and 
Lanagan  for  the  first  time  caught  the  upper  lip; 
a  lip  as  thin  as  a  paper  cutter,  that  drew  tautly  and 
white  across  the  perfect  teeth.  It  suggested  a  knife 
to  Lanagan. 

"  She  holds  true  to  the  type,"  he  commented  to 
himself  grimly.  "  A  curious  type,  surely,  for  a 
prosaic  clerk !  " 

Lanagan's  brain  was  churning.  His  beady  eyes 
gleamed  as  though  touched  with  phosphorescence. 
Under  the  concentration  of  his  gaze,  the  woman  un 
consciously  shrank.  Rising  from  his  chair  with  a 
movement  almost  tigerish,  he  strode  before  her,  up 
turned  her  face  so  that  her  eyes  looked  straight  up 
into  his,  and  then,  his  voice  terrific  in  its  tension, 
and  yet  scarcely  louder  than  a  whisper,  said: 

"  Did  you  wheedle  Thaddeus  Miller  into  making 
a  will  in  your  favour  and  then  murder  him?" 

So  quickly  that  her  act  seemed  rather  involuntary 
than  by  any  conscious  impulse,  she  leaped  to  her  feet, 
her  breast  rising  and  falling  tumultuously.  She 
struggled  inarticulately  for  speech,  raised  her  hand 
as  though  to  strike  him  in  the  face,  and  collapsed  in 
a  swoon  at  his  feet. 

Lanagan  gazed  coldly  down  upon  her  without 
qualm.  He  was  impersonal  now;  the  incarnation 


42  LANAGAN 

of  newspaper  truth.  He  only  regretted  that  she 
had  balked  him  by  swooning.  Swiftly  he  straight 
ened  her  out,  loosed  her  collar,  and  was  busily  en 
gaged  chafing  her  hands  when  heavy  footfalls 
sounded  from  the  porch,  and  the  bell  rang  loudly. 

"  By  the  brogans  and  the  ring,  our  friends  of  the 
upper  office,"  commented  Lanagan  cynically  as  he 
opened  the  door.  Quinlan  and  Pryor  from  the 
Oakland  department  entered,  viewing  Lanagan  sus 
piciously  as  they  beheld  the  still  form  upon  the 
floor. 

"  She's  in  better  shape  for  the  hospital  than  your 
third  degree  in  the  detinue  cells,"  remarked  Lana 
gan,  vouchsafing  no  explanations.  "  Went  out  just 
this  minute  as  I  was  interviewing  her." 

Quinlan  and  Pryor  settled  themselves  heavily,  lit 
fresh  cigars,  made  laboured  notes  of  the  circum 
stances,  and,  when  Lanagan  finally  restored  the  wo 
man,  gave  her  some  breathing  space  and  then  in 
formed  her  that  she  was  to  be  taken  to  see  her  hus 
band.  To  Lanagan  she  directed  no  look  —  ad 
dressed  no  word.  She  moved  as  one  in  a  trance. 

The  detectives  and  their  prisoner  departed  and 
Lanagan  turned  for  the  Miller  cottage. 

"  That  was  a  pure  soul's  denial  or  it  was  a  guilty 
soul's  defiance,"  thought  Lanagan.  "  But  which  ?  " 

Long  he  turned  that  over. 

"  Frankly,  on  type  I  mistrust  her ;  but  what  about 
that  look  in  Miller's  eyes?  " 

Lanagan  seldom  went  back  on  a  "  hunch."     At 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  43 

first  flash  he  had  declared  the  Watsons  innocent. 
He  was  not  yet  ready  to  abandon  that;  and  yet  the 
circumstances  were  certainly  trending  toward  them. 

"  But,"  he  concluded,  "  there's  a  nigger  in  this 
woodpile  somewhere  that  I  haven't  located." 

The  cottage  had  nothing  to  offer.  Police,  curio 
hunters,  and  shoals  of  newspaper  men  had  combed 
it.  Lanagan  hurried  to  the  Oakland  police  head 
quarters  and  cocked  his  feet  on  Inspector  Henley's 
desk  while  that  astute  individual  detailed  to  him 
the  various  steps  taken  by  the  police  in  fixing  the 
crime  on  Watson.  Lanagan  was  nettled.  It 
sounded  highly  convincing. 

"You're  sure  of  Watson?"  he  finally  asked, 
quizzically,  helping  himself  to  a  fist-full  of  Henley's 
cigars. 

"  Clearest  case  I  have  ever  handled,"  said  Henley, 
moving  the  cigar  box  out  of  reach.  "  Every  link 
is  complete.  Further:  the  woman  is  in  on  it  and 
we'll  have  her  within  twenty- four  hours.  We'll  get 
the  case  before  Baxter  and  they'll  swing  inside  of 
three  months." 

"  Well,"  drawled  Lanagan,  "  you're  wrong  again, 
Henley." 

The  inspector  flushed.  He  had  a  lively  recollec 
tion  of  how  Lanagan  had  "  trimmed  "  him  on  the 
Stockslager  murder  and  he  didn't  take  kindly  to  the 
"  again." 

"  We've  got  the  motive,  the  property ;  and  the 
means,  the  hammer.  What  more  do  you  want  ?  " 


44  LANAGAN 

"  Well,  to  complete  the  alliteration,  I  suppose  you 
want  the  murderer,"  said  Lanagan  with  a  faint 
laugh.  "  And  you  haven't  got  him.  Pretty  good 
smokes.  Just  slip  back  that  box.  I  don't  get  over 
your  way  very  often.  You  act  as  though  you  had 
paid  for  those  cigars  yourself.  Can  I  see  Wat 
son?" 

"  No,"  said  Henley,  surlily.  He  never  cared  to 
argue  the  little  matters  such  as  Lanagan  was  fond 
of  nagging  him  with;  some  way  he  had  a  feeling 
that  Lanagan  always  knew  just  a  trifle  more  than 
he  told.  He  passed  back  the  box.  "  But  it's  an 
even  break.  Nobody's  seen  him.  Here's  his  pic 
ture." 

Lanagan  studied  the  front  and  profile  of  a  young 
man  of  twenty-six,  a  face  of  surprising  frankness 
and  honesty.  Every  line  held  to  Lanagan's  critical 
eye  the  lie  to  the  number  striped  across  his  breast; 
another  feature  of  our  brilliant  American  police  sys 
tem  that  puts  the  rogue's  gallery  blazon  on  a  man 
before  he  is  tried. 

As  Lanagan  passed  out,  his  eye  fell  on  the  bulle 
tin  board  in  the  detectives'  room.  The  last  dis 
charge  slip  from  San  Quentin  was  pasted  upon  it, 
the  slip  by  which  all  police  stations  are  supposed 
to  keep  in  touch  with  prisoners  discharged  during 
the  past  month.  But  through  long  familiarity  few 
of  the  detectives  stop  to  read  carefully.  More  from 
habit  than  anything  else,  Lanagan  read  those  sheets 
as  a  preacher  reads  the  book  —  he  scanned  it. 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  45 

The  fifth  name  on  the  list  caught  his  eye: 
Ephraim  Miller,  alias  Thad  Miller,  alias  Thornton 
Miles,  alias  Iowa  Slim;  assault  to  murder;  twenty- 
five  years.  The  slip  was  dated  the  first  —  five  days 
back.  There  was  little  chance  of  its  being  read 
now.  Swift  as  a  lightning  flash  Lanagan  had 
formed  his  theory.  His  mind  leaped  back  to  the 
meeting  with  Miller  in  front  of  the  Palace. 
Ephraim  and  Thaddeus;  they  were  old-fashioned 
names.  Then  there  was  the  "  Thad." 

Miller  had  been  from  San  Quentin  but  four  days : 
Miser  Miller's  fear  had  been  on  him  but  a  few  days. 
Possibly  this  was  a  wayward  son,  some  unrecog 
nised  offspring,  some  family  skeleton  recrudescent ; 
perhaps  it  was  this  convict  who  had  brought  that 
fear  into  the  eyes  of  Thaddeus  Miller! 

It  was  a  long,  fine  chance ;  but  the  most  brilliant 
of  newspaper  successes  are  scored  on  long,  fine 
chances.  Lanagan  determined  to  take  it.  He 
"  rapped  "  to  the  hunch,  as  he  used  to  style  it;  under 
the  impulse  of  his  new  idea  he  was  a  human  dyna 
mo. 

He  was  back  in  San  Francisco  within  an  hour, 
and  headed  straight  for  Billy  Connors'  Buckets  of 
Blood,  that  famed  rendezvous  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  Hall  of  Justice,  where  the  leaders  of 
the  thieves'  clans  foregathered.  There  he  waited 
an  hour  until  "  Kid  "  Monahan,  popularly  desig 
nated  as  King  of  the  Pick-pockets,  came  in.  The 
Kid  was  now  a  fence.  He  had  retired  from  the 


46  LANAGAN 

active  practice  of  his  profession  after  doing  time 
twice.  "  Ain't  there  with  the  touch  any  more," 
he  remarked  sadly  to  Lanagan  one  day.  He 
was,  moreover,  credited  with  being  the  man  for 
an  outsider  to  "  see "  who  wanted  to  operate  lo 
cally. 

"  Kid,"  said  Uanagan,  "  I  want  you  to  find  me 
Ephraim  Miller,  alias  Thad  Mills,  alias  Thornton 
Miles,  alias  Iowa  Slim.  Just  out  of  San  Quentin 
where  he  did  twenty-five  years  for  assault  to  mur 
der." 

"  We  don't  keep  no  line  on  these  old  ones,"  re 
torted  the  "  King  "  professionally.  "  But  if  he's 
goin'  to  report  here  he  reports  to  me.  It's  pretty 
hard  on  us  native  sons  with  that  reform  bunch  on 
the  Police  Commission  and  the  sky  pilots  stuffing 
you  guys  on  the  papers  full  of  knocks.  There  ain't 
no  touch-off  work  bein'  done  around  here  by  any 
travellers  that  we  can  help.  When  do  you  want 
him?" 

"  Meet  me  here  to-night  at  ten.  I  must  have 
him  located  by  then." 

Lanagan  had  befriended  the  "  King  "  once,  and 
he  held  that  illustrious  gentleman's  absolute  loyalty. 
He  knew  the  "  King  "  would  have  a  dozen  men  out 
in  as  many  minutes. 

Lanagan  headed  back  for  Oakland  to  round  up 
the  loose  ends  of  the  story.  He  found  police  head 
quarters  jammed  with  newspaper  men  and  the  smell 
of  many  flash  powders  heavy  on  the  air. 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  47 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Lanagan  of  the  Enquirer,"  quotH 
Henley.  "  You  can  talk  to  Watson  now."  His 
tone  was  triumph. 

Watson  had  confessed.  He  was  sitting  in  a 
chair  in  the  Inspector's  room,  a  huddled  figure  of 
misery.  The  mantle  of  age  seemed  to  have  settled 
on  him  overnight. 

Lanagan  was  a  hard  loser.  He  stepped  over  to 
the  huddled  man. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Watson,"  he  said  so 
low  that  no  one  but  Watson  heard  him ;  "  do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  you  are  not  lying,  putting  your 
neck  in  the  noose  —  to  save  your  wife?  " 

"  No !  No !  "  the  denial  was  a  shriek.  "  I  killed 
him !  I  killed  him  for  his  money,  I  tell  you !  " 
He  fell  back,  shivering. 

Lanagan  drove  in  on  him.  "  You  lie,  I  tell  you," 
he  hissed.  "  You  lie !  You  fool !  It's  bound  to 
come  out !  Tell  the  truth !  " 

"  No,  no,"  moaned  Watson.  "  I  did  it  alone. 
God !  I  can  feel  his  skull  crunching  yet !  " 

''  You've  got  more  imagination  than  I  credited 
you  with,"  sneered  Lanagan  savagely.  "  That  last 
was  a  good  touch." 

There  was  a  hustle  as  Quinlan  and  Pryor  came 
through  the  prison  gates  from  the  detinue  cells  sur 
rounded  by  an  eager  coterie  of  newspaper  men. 

"  We've  got  her,  Inspector !  "  cried  Quinlan  with 
unprofessional  feeling.  "  She's  '  spilled.'  Killed 
him  herself,  and  says  her  husband  is  lying  if  he  says 


48  LANAGAN 

he  did  it.  They're  both  in  it.  We  will  have  the 
whole  thing  now." 

The  woman  was  then  brought  out  after  her 
official  statement  had  been  taken.  Nothing  that  the 
newspaper  men  could  do  could  shake  her  story.  In 
substance  she  said  that  she  had  worked  on  the  old 
man  for  months  to  have  the  will  made  out  in  her 
husband's  favour.  Knowing  her  husband  was 
above  such  a  deed,  she  planned  and  executed  it 
alone.  She  had  not  had  an  opportunity  to  wash 
the  hammer  after  she  returned  home,  and  only  did 
so  when  the  furor  commenced.  That  was  why  it 
was  still  damp  and  why  she  had  overlooked  the  two 
strands  of  incriminating  gray  hair. 

The  newspaper  camera  men  snapped  and  exploded 
flashes;  the  inquisitorial  circle  broke  up,  and  Wat 
son  having  been  removed,  the  room  was  cleared  of 
all  save  Henley,  Mrs.  Watson,  and  Lanagan. 

"Through?"  asked  Henley  sarcastically. 

"  No,"  snapped  Lanagan.  "  You  say  you  killed 
this  man.  I  say,  Mrs.  Watson,  you're  a  liar.  You 
no  more  killed  that  man  than  I  did.  You  are  lying 
to  save  your  husband !  " 

His  voice  had  risen;  his  aspect  was  fairly  fero 
cious;  his  sallow  face  flushed  to  an  unwholesome 
grey-blue;  his  eyes  glowing  again  with  that  catlike 
phosphorescence  that  she  had  seen  and  quailed  at 
once  before. 

But  again  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment  at  a 
breakdown,  for  again  under  the  shock  she  collapsed 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  49 

after  half  rising  to  her  feet  with  evident  purpose 
to  give  him  the  lie  as  violently  as  he  gave  it  to  her. 

Women,  Lanagan  reflected,  are  like  electric  wires. 
They  are  drawn  to  carry  just  so  much  voltage.  A 
little  overplus  and  they  burn  out.  Each  time  he  had 
bullied  the  woman  just  as  her  nerves  were  at  the 
breaking  point. 

The  matron  bustled  in  with  a  side  compliment  on 
Lanagan  for  his  brutality,  and  lifted  the  limp  form. 
Lanagan,  bitterly  chagrined  at  the  events  of  the  day, 
turned  on  his  heel  to  return  to  San  Francisco.  On 
the  ferry  he  broke  a  vow  of  six  months  and  fell 
back  on  absinthe.  He  reached  the  office  at  seven 
o'clock,  wrote  steadily  for  two  hours  a  story  iden 
tical  as  he  knew  it  would  be  with  all  the  morning 
papers,  and  then  went  out. 

The  word  was  passed  swiftly  that  Lanagan  was 
drinking  again,  and  I  was  released  for  the  night  to 
round  him  up  and  get  him  home  —  my  usual  as 
signment  under  the  circumstances. 

On  the  chance  that  some  of  the  choice  spirits  that 
foregather  at  Connors'  dive  might  have  crossed  his 
path,  I  dropped  in  there,  and,  to  my  unbounded  re 
lief,  saw  Lanagan  himself  at  a  table  in  deep  con 
versation  with  "  Kid  "  Monahan.  I  went  over  to 
his  table,  the  "  King  "  slipping  out  the  side  door. 
I  had  not  Lanagan's  penchant  for  camaraderie  with 
that  breed,  and  took  little  pains  not  to  let  him  know 
it. 

The  old  wild,  reckless  light  shone  from  Lanagan's 


5o  LANAGAN 

eyes,  and  I  knew  ttiere  was  no  measuring  his  stride 
that  night,  making  pace  or  keeping  it. 

He  laughed  aloud.  "  Art  there,  old  true 
penny?  "  and  slapped  my  shoulder.  He  was  in  high 
feather  with  himself,  that  was  clear.  "  Come. 
Have  you  got  your  gun  ?  "  I  nodded. 

"  That's  fine.  Now  for  the  grand  '  feenale/  as 
Caesar  says  about  his  ponce  a  la  toscana.  And  suc 
cess  to  all  hunches !  "  There  was  something  besides 
absinthe  burning  back  in  those  eyes. 

Questions  were  useless,  so  I  trailed  along.  At 
Macnamara's  corner  we  picked  up  Brady  and  Wil 
son,  two  of  Chief  Leslie's  trustiest  men. 

"  Did  the  chief  instruct  you?  "  asked  Lanagan. 

"  He  said  to  report  to  you  and  keep  our  heads 
shut  or  tend  daisies,"  replied  Brady,  the  senior  of 
the  pair,  and  a  cool  and  heady  thief-taker;  also  the 
champion  pistol  shot  of  the  department. 

"  My  man  is  Iowa  Slim,  wanted  for  murder.  Is 
heavily  armed  and  desperate.  He's  in  the  Tokio 
—  Jap  lodging  house  at  Dupont  and  Clay.  It  looks 
like  break  the  door  and  rush.  Wilson,  Norton,  and 
I  will  take  the  door,  and  you,  Brady,  stand  free  of 
the  rush  and  be  ready  to  drop  him  if  he  shows  fight. 
That  is,  Norton  will  — "  turning  to  me  in  his  quiz 
zical,  bantering  way,  " — if  he  relishes  the  job!" 

I  didn't  relish  the  job.  But,  as  usual,  when  he 
spoke  to  me  in  that  superior,  teasing  way  I  blun 
dered  in  valiantly  where  my  native  caution  would 
have  feared  to  tread.  I  am  free  to  admit  that  I  am 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  51 

of  that  branch  of  the  profession  that  believes  a  re 
porter  full  of  lead  in  peace  or  war  is  of  very  little 
use  on  earth,  and  certainly  not  elsewhere,  to  the 
paper  that  employs  him. 

In  the  shadows  the  detectives  nonchalantly  slipped 
their  revolvers  into  their  side  coat  pockets.  Neither 
was  cumbered  by  an  overcoat ;  double-line  your  sack 
coat,  the  old-timers  will  tell  you,  but  keep  away  from 
excess  encumbrances  where  possible.  One  gallant 
officer  in  my  time  lost  his  life  because  he  was  two 
seconds  delayed  unbuttoning  an  overcoat  for  his 
gun. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  we  assembled,  one  by  one, 
at  convenient  corners  to  the  Tokio,  a  foul-smelling, 
ramshackle  affair.  One  by  one  we  drifted  in, 
slipped  off  our  shoes  and  tiptoed  up  the  stairs,  Lana- 
gan  in  the  lead,  Norton  bringing  up  the  rear. 

Lanagan  paused  before  a  corner  door.  He  and 
Wilson  braced  against  it.  My  bulk  backed  Wilson. 
Brady  towered  above  us,  standing  free  to  have  a 
clear  sweep  with  both  guns.  He  turned  the  light 
on  full,  taking  every  chance  of  making  targets  of 
us  all  for  the  one  chance  of  getting  a  drop  on  Slim 
without  bloodshed. 

From  an  adjacent  room  a  clock  ticked  loudly; 
somebody  rolled  over  in  bed,  and  the  sounds  came 
so  clearly  that  it  seemed  my  heart  must  have  beat 
as  loudly  as  a  trip  hammer.  Yet  it  was  not  exactly 
fear,  as  I  recall  it ;  it  was  a  sort  of  nervous  tension 
to  have  it  over  with  if  it  had  to  come. 


52  LANAGAN 

"  Slim !  Slim !  "  It  was  a  soft,  sibilant  whisper, 
and  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  ears.  It  was  Lana- 
gan  at  the  keyhole.  Then  he  rapped  four  times  in 
quick,  soft  staccato,  and  then  four  times  more. 
It  was  some  code  he  had  learned,  possibly  from 
Monahan. 

There  was  a  prolonged  pause,  and  the  sound  of 
someone  from  within  turning  in  bed,  and  another! 
long  pause.  The  strain  on  me  was  terrific.  From 
the  corner  of  my  eye  I  caught  the  black  muzzle  of 
Brady's  left-hand  gun.  It  was  as  steady  as  though 
held  in  a  vise,  and  I  had  time  to  marvel. 

"  Slim !  Slim !  They're  after  me !  It's  Larry 
Bowman's  pal,  Shorty !  " 

Another  nerve-racking  pause,  and  then  at  the  very 
keyhole  came  through  a  soft,  throaty  whisper: 

"Who?" 

"  Shorty  Davis.  Larry  said  you'd  take  me  in. 
Quick,  Slim,  they're  after  me !  " 

A  key  grated,  the  knob  turned. 

"  Now ! "  hissed  Lanagan,  and  with  one  mighty 
lurch  we  burst  pell-mell  into  the  room.  I  caught  a 
flashing  look  at  a  slender,  flannel-shirted  figure  with 
a  week's  growth  of  beard  as  Slim  whirled  a  foot 
ahead  of  us  and  with  one  leap  cleared  the  room  and 
swung  with  a  murderous  long-barrelled  Colt  in  his 
hand. 

His  leap  was  quicker  than  the  spring  of  a  cat 
He  shot  from  the  hip,  but  Brady,  posted  to  do  just 
the  trick  he  did,  spoiled  the  shot.  Slim's  bullet 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  53 

ripped  a  two-inch  hole  through  the  floor  as  he  crum 
pled  down  in  a  heap. 

We  stretched  him  upon  the  bed.  He  had  got  it 
in  the  lungs.  Wilson  started  for  the  doctor. 

"  Remember,"  said  Lanagan,  "  the  chief's  orders. 
You  are  not  to  talk.  If  it  gets  out,  tell  all  reporters 
it's  a  detinue  case.  I'll  answer  for  the  rest." 

A  few  gnomelike,  corpselike,  yellow  faces  peered 
from  doors,  but  a  flash  from  Brady's  star  sent  them 
scurrying  back.  The  shot  was  apparently  not  heard 
in  the  street,  for  no  one  came. 

Lanagan  turned  to  Slim,  who  was  choking. 

"  You  know  what  you  were  wanted  for,  Slim  ?  " 
he  asked  in  as  cool  a  voice  as  a  surgeon  might  ask 
for  your  pulse. 

"  That  Oakland  job,  I  suppose,"  he  gasped. 
"  Well,  boys,  you  did  me  a  good  turn  croaking  me. 
I  never  wanted  to  go  back  to  that  hell  hole  again. 
I  did  what  I  came  out  to  do,  what  I've  waited 
twenty-five  years  to  do,  and  I'm  ready  to  take  my 
judgment.  He  sent  me  up  there  twenty-five  years 
ago,  and  he  murdered  my  father  as  surely  as  there 
is  a  God,  who  will  some  day  dope  it  all  out  right 
according  to  a  different  scheme  than  they  do  here." 

Gasping,  with  many  halts,  he  told  his  story.  The 
surgeon  came,  shook  his  head,  and  devoted  himself 
to  keeping  life  until  the  story  was  taken  down. 

His  father,  a  wealthy  lowan,  had  come  to  Thad- 
deus  Miller's  ranch  thirty  years  ago,  bringing  with 
him  his  entire  fortune  for  investment.  The  son 


54  LANAGAN 

Ephraim  remained  at  school  back  Home.  At  Mil 
ler's  ranch  the  boy's  father  had  been  found  in  the 
well  one  day,  drowned.  A  whiskey  bottle  floated 
on  the  water  beside  him.  His  entire  estate  had  been 
willed  to  Thaddeus  Miller.  In  a  sparsely  settled 
community  Thaddeus  Miller's  story  had  been  ac 
cepted  —  that  the  brother,  in  drink,  had  stumbled 
into  the  well.  The  son  had  journeyed  across  the 
continent  to  find  himself  disinherited.  He  had  al 
ways  been  told  he  was  to  be  his  father's  heir.  His 
father  in  Iowa  had  been  a  strict  abstainer.  So  far 
as  the  son  knew,  he  had  never  touched  liquor.  But 
his  charge,  that  Thaddeus  had  in  some  fashion  got 
ten  his  father  intoxicated,  forced  him  to  sign  a  will, 
and  then  pitched  him  into  the  well  with  the  bottle, 
while  it  created  some  natural  excitement,  could  never 
be  proved,  and  in  the  course  of  time  became  for 
gotten.  In  spite  of  a  contest,  the  will  stood. 

Ephraim  took  to  drink  and  fell  in  with  evil  com 
panions.  For  petty  offences  he  was  sentenced  and 
earned  his  name  of  Iowa  Slim.  One  night  in 
liquor,  fired  with  his  wrongs,  he  determined  to  ran 
sack  Miller's  house.  He  knew  the  old  man  kept  a 
large  amount  of  money  concealed  there.  It  was  his, 
he  believed,  and  he  determined  to  have  it.  Miller 
had  caught  him.  In  the  scuffle  he  beat  his  uncle 
and  left  him  for  dead,  and  in  the  stovepipe  he  had 
found  a  bag  of  gold.  But  as  he  was  leaving  the 
grounds,  neighbours,  driving  along  on  the  lonely 
country  road,  who  had  heard  the  first  screams  of  the 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  55 

old  man,  surrounded  him.  The  uncle  prosecuted 
him  with  all  the  wealth  and  influence  at  his  com 
mand,  and  the  son,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  years,  was 
sentenced  to  San  Quentin  for  twenty-five  years 
for  assault  to  murder. 

As  sentence  was  pronounced  he  had  turned  on  his 
uncle  and  warned  him  that  the  day  he  was  freed 
from  prison  he  would  come  back  and  kill  him. 
From  time  to  time  he  had  managed  to  send  threats 
by  discharged  convicts,  who  carried  the  word  with 
the  unfailing  obligation  of  the  convict  brother 
hood.  He  had  driven  the  old  man  from  place  to 
place. 

He  had  lost  track  of  him  for  an  entire  year,  and 
was  planning  how  best  to  locate  him  again  when  he 
unexpectedly  met  him  face  to  face  on  the  streets  of 
San  Francisco,  followed  him  to  his  home,  waited 
until  the  neighbourhood  was  quiet,  and  then  had 
stolen  in,  wakened  the  old  man  from  sleep,  and 
asked  about  his  father's  property. 

Under  the  fear  of  death  Miller  had  made  a  prom 
ise  of  restitution,  but  in  an  unguarded  moment  he 
said  he  "  would  make  a  new  will."  Slim  demanded 
what  he  meant  by  a  new  will,  and  the  uncle  had  con 
fessed  the  will  to  the  Watsons  merely  to  cheat  the 
nephew  in  case  he  had  come  back  and  fulfilled  his 
courtroom  threat.  The  uncle  had  kept  count  and 
knew  to  a  day  when  Slim  was  to  be  released.  En 
raged  beyond  endurance  at  that,  Slim  had  seized  up 
the  hammer  and  crushed  the  old  man's  head. 


56  LANAGAN 

"  But  as  I  live,"  he  breathed  hoarsely,  "  the  man 
was  as  good  as  dead  before  I  hit  him." 

"  Yes,"  Lanagan  interrupted,  "  I  know  that, 
Slim." 

Slim  looked  at  Lanagan  with  dull  curiosity,  but 
was  too  far  gone  to  ask  explanations,  and  he  con 
tinued  with  his  story,  telling  of  sprinkling  kerosene 
and  touching  it  with  a  match.  He  then  had  gone 
to  the  Watson  cottage,  carrying  the  hammer,  intend 
ing  if  the  couple  were  not  in  to  locate  and  destroy 
the  will;  and  if  they  were  to  do  double  murder  if 
necessary  to  get  it.  Miller  had  said  they  had  it,  an 
untruth,  told  evidently  in  the  childish  hope  that  Slim 
might  leave  him  and  search  for  it.  While  still  wait 
ing  for  an  opportunity  of  entering  the  house,  the 
smouldering  fire  had  been  discovered  at  the  Miller 
cottage,  and  he  had  fled,  the  thought  coming  to  him 
to  leave  the  hammer  on  the  Watson  porch,  not 
knowing  the  hammer  belonged  to  them  and  had 
been  borrowed  by  Miller.  The  arrest  of  the 
two  for  murder  might  pave  the  way  for  him  to 
have  his  property  restored  as  the  next  of  kin  to 
Miller. 

He  signed  the  confession  laboriously,  and  the 
story  was  done. 

"  It's  all  right,  cull,"  he  said  to  Brady,  dropping 
back  to  the  vernacular.  "  You  did  me  a  good  trick 
not  sending  me  back.  There  ain't  no  hard  feelings 
on  my  part." 

He  raised  himself  by  a  sudden  effort,  his  eyes 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  57 

peering  far,  far  away  and  beyond  the  sordid  scene 
of  his  dissolution. 

"  I  squared  —  all  —  accounts  —  dad  —  I 
squ'— " 

He  dropped  back  on  the  pillow.  The  surgeon 
bent  his  head  to  Slim's  breast,  then  slowly  straight 
ened  up  and  drew  the  sheet  over  his  face. 

"  Poor  lad !  "  said  Lanagan  softly.  "  They  will 
judge  you  differently  there !  " 

Then  again  the  newspaper  mind  curtly: 

"  Brady,  you  and  Wilson  stay  here  until  I  come 
back.  Nobody  gets  in.  Nobody,  understand? 
Doc,  we'll  have  to  impound  you,  too,  until  three. 
Understand,  Brady?  "  Brady  nodded. 

"  Now,  Norrie,"  snapped  Lanagan  incisively, 
"  beat  it,  boy,  beat  it !  " 

For  two  hours  Lanagan  and  I  fed  paper  into  our 
typewriters,  with  Sampson  himself  whisking  the 
sheets  away  as  they  came  from  the  platens.  The 
M.  E.  even  came  in  once  or  twice  and  tried  to  pre 
serve  his  dignity  while  he  scanned  the  copy  hot  from 
the  typewriter. 

The  thrill  of  Lanagan's  great  exclusive  was 
throughout  the  entire  plant.  Not  a  half-dozen  peo 
ple  in  the  office  knew  just  what  the  story  was,  but 
each  knew  by  the  subtle  instinct  of  communication 
that  the  big  scoop  of  the  year  was  shooting  down 
the  pneumatic  to  the  composing  room. 

Not  until  we  had  the  first  papers,  sticky  and  inky 
and  fragrant,  in  our  eager  fingers,  did  we  stir  from 


58  LANAGAN 

our  desks.  'Then  followed  the  usual  jubilation  as 
the  scouts  ran  in  with  the  Times  and  the  Herald 
with  the  "  Watsons  Confess  "  scareheads. 

Ah,  that  is  life,  that  exaltation  of  the  "  exclu 
sive"! 

We  wandered  leisurely  down  to  the  Tokio.  The 
story  was  wide  open  now.  We  were  through.  The 
morgue  notified,  Brady  and  Wilson  stayed  to  attend 
to  the  routine,  and  Lanagan  announced  that  he  was 
going  to  Oakland. 

We  caught  the  paper  boat,  riding  luxuriously  on 
heaps  of  Enquirers.  Thus  it  happened  that  we  were 
at  police  headquarters  there  with  the  copies  of  our 
own  paper  before  the  route  carriers  had  made  their 
deliveries.  Lanagan  stepped  to  the  'phone  and  rang 
up  Henley. 

"Feel  like  buying  a  drink?"  asked  Lana 
gan. 

Over  the  wire  came  back  some  hearty  and  meas 
ured  compliments.  "  You're  sure  in  an  amiable  hu 
mour.  Well,  come  down.  You've  got  two  prison 
ers  to  free.  If  conditions  at  your  jail  weren't  so 
rotten  I  wouldn't  say  anything  till  morning.  But  I 
need  a  drink,  which  is  on  you,  and  the  Watsons  need 
a  breath  of  fresh  air."  In  fifteen  minutes  Henley 
was  with  us. 

'He  was  a  gallant  officer,  that  Henley.  When 
he  had  finished  he  wrung  Lanagan's  hand  until  I 
thought  he  never  would  let  go. 

"  Bring  in  the  Watsons,"  he  ordered. 


THE  PATHS  OF  JUDGMENT  59 

In  a  moment  they  came  in,  a  weary,  worn,  misery- 
marked  couple.  It  was  their  first  meeting  since 
their  imprisonment.  With  a  sob,  asking  no  why 
or  wherefore,  Mrs.  Watson  fell  into  her  husband's 
arms  and  mingled  her  tears  with  his.  Her  sobs  — •> 
weary,  worn,  tired  little  sobs  —  echoed  softly  under 
the  vaulted  ceiling. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  inform  you,"  Henley  said 
grandly,  "  that  through  the  efforts  of  our  brilliant 
young  friend  of  the  Enquirer,  the  murderer  of  Mil 
ler  has  been  located.  You  are  free." 

Then  followed  such  a  scene  of  hysterical  gladness 
and  tearful,  joyous  explanations  as  Henley's  room, 
that  had  beheld  many  strange  and  unusual  scenes, 
had  never  witnessed. 

Of  course  Watson,  when  arrested,  confronted 
with  the  hammer  and  told  that  his  wife  had  con 
fessed,  had  yielded  to  the  third  degree  and,  unable 
to  accept  the  full  horror  of  it,  yet  had  swiftly  formed 
his  plan  to  confess  to  save  the  woman  he  loved,  even 
though  she  might  have  done  the  deed. 

She,  on  her  part,  told  a  similar  story,  had 
formed  her  plan,  for  it  appeared  that  when  the 
furor  was  raised  after  the  murder  was  discov 
ered  she  had  found  the  hammer  on  her  porch  with 
fresh  blood  stains;  knew  it  had  been  in  Miller's 
cottage,  and  had  washed  it  hurriedly,  not  knowing 
in  her  excitement  just  what  to  do,  her  husband  even 
then  having  been  taken  to  the  scene  of  the  crime  by 
the  police. 


60  LANAGAN 

In  face  of  his  confession  and  her  own  hammer 
found  stained  in  such  manner,  she  had  actually  be 
lieved  that  he  had  committed  the  crime. 

The  police  automobile  drove  up  and  the  Watsons 
were  escorted  to  it. 

For  the  twentieth  time,  her  eyes  still  tear-filled, 
Mrs.  Watson  said :  "  What  can  we  ever  do  to  thank 
you,  Mr.  Lanagan  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me  certain  brutal  conduct,"  laughed 
that  individual.  "  As  I  hope  the  Lord  will  forgive 
me,"  he  added  sotto  voce,  "  for  misjudging  you." 

As  the  automobile  sped  away  to  return  a  very 
happy  couple  to  their  home,  Lanagan,  hat  doffed  and 
in  hand,  bowed  profoundly  after  the  retreating  ma 
chine,  and  remarked  with  veneration  to  the  world 
at  large : 

"  The  tenth  woman,  gentlemen,  the  tenth  woman." 

Then  to  Henley :  "  Inspector,  I  believe  you  said 
something  about  buying  ?  " 


Ill 

THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE 


T\7' 
JV 


Ill 

THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE 

ND  of  caught  you  fellows  off  base,  Nor- 
rie." 

Bradley,  star  man  for  the  Herald,  drawled  it  at 
me  invidiously  as  I  entered  the  police  reporters' 
room  at  the  Hall  of  Justice.  Merriman  of  the 
Times  and  a  half-dozen  morning  paper  men,  their 
copy  turned  in,  had  drifted  down  to  the  room  to 
await  any  late  developments.  The  Ratto  story  had 
been  on  for  three  days  and  the  Herald  and  the 
Times  had  "  put  over  "  the  arrest  of  Bernardo  Tosci, 
Camorrist,  at  the  expense  of  Lanagan  and  myself. 

"  Better  shoot  a  few  absinthe  drips  into  Lanagan," 
continued  Bradley,  "  and  then  maybe  you'll  land 
something.  He's  been  sober  so  long  he's  lost  his 
grip." 

Bradley  had  fared  hardly  at  the  expense  of  Lana 
gan  on  more  than  one  occasion.  I  was  about  to 
fling  it  back  at  him  when  Lanagan's  voice  inter 
rupted  me.  He  had  entered  the  room  unfortunately 
just  in  time  to  hear  Bradley's  words. 

"  Possibly,"  he  said. 

There  was  an  embarrassed  pause.  Lanagan  had 
a  caustic  tip  to  his  tongue  and  they  awaited  it  now. 
He  studied  Bradley  without  expression,  leaning 

63 


64  LANAGAN 

against  the  door  sill.  But,  curiously  enough,  there 
was  no  outburst.  It  was  always  difficult  to  fore- 
say  just  what  form  Lanagan's  humour  would  take. 

"  Charley,"  he  said  at  last  to  Bradley,  and  there 
shaded  into  his  voice  a  subtle  colouring  of  uncon 
scious  pathos,  "  What  have  I  ever  done  to  you?  I 
have  never  done  you  dirt ;  nor  any  man  in  the  busi 
ness  dirt.  I  have  played  the  game  square.  Why 
is  it  that  I  am  always  singled  out  like  that?  Have 
I  ever  betrayed  my  paper  or  my  friends?  Have  I 
ever  brought  dishonour  to  the  name  of  the  newspa 
perman?  If  I  have  drunk,  it  has  been  out  of  the 
public  sight. 

"  I  have  fought  hard,  Charley ;  fought  hard  to 
break  the  habit.  It  belongs  to  a  past  day  in  our 
game.  And  irrespective  of  that  I  may  wish  to  be 
remembered  around  here  some  day  as  something 
other  than  drunken  Jack  Lanagan.  I  can't  help  it 
if  I  have  a  knack  of  landing  stories.  I've  got  to 
play  the  game  right  with  my  paper,  haven't  I? 
And  here  in  this  reporters'  room  of  all  places  I 
thought  for  a  little  lift  and  a  hand  along  and  you 
are  trying  to  shove  me  down." 

His  voice  hardened  in  bitterness : 

"  I've  played  a  lone  hand  all  my  life,  though, 
Charley;  it  seems  to  be  in  the  cards  that  I  keep  it 
up." 

My  eyes  blurred  because  I  alone  knew  how  hard 
he  had  fought  that  battle.  Beneath  his  cynical  ex 
terior  he  had  a  soul  as  sensitive  to  slights  as  a  girl. 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  65 

Boyishly  I  made  a  lunge  at  Bradley,  but  Lanagan, 
with  a  swift  move,  had  my  arm  in  that  lean,  pow 
erful  hand  of  his. 

"  It  don't  go,"  he  said,  softly.  "  We  are  full 
grown  men." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Then  Merriman, 
of  few  words,  said  sententiously : 

"  It's  your  move,  Charley." 

And  Bradley  put  out  his  hand,  which  Lanagan 
took. 

"  Jack,"  said  the  Herald  man,  "  I'm  a  cad.  There 
isn't  a  righter  man  in  the  game  than  you." 

"  Forget  it  then,"  said  Lanagan.     "  I  have." 

But  as  we  left  the  reporters'  room  together  I  no 
ticed  that  the  whiteness  that  had  come  over  Lana- 
gan's  face  remained  there. 

"  Don't  let  it  worry  you,  Jack,"  I  said  anxiously. 

"  Don't  you  bother,  laddie.  He  did  me  more 
good  than  liquor,  and  I  never  felt  the  dragging  for 
the  stuff  worse  than  to-night.  I'm  going  into  this 
story  now  for  fair,  and  I'm  going  in  to  smash  the 
Times  and  the  Herald  flatter  than  a  matrix." 

The  Ratto  case  was  one  that  occupied  considera 
ble  public  attention  several  years  ago,  interest  aris 
ing  in  the  first  instance  through  the  peculiar  manner 
in  which  the  crime  was  disclosed.  Ratto,  a  wealthy 
Italian  commission  merchant,  had  disappeared,  no 
great  commotion  being  raised  for  the  first  few  days. 
The  police  made  the  customary  desultory  "  search  " 
—  the  "  search  "  consisting  mainly  of  the  name  and 


66  LANAGAN 

description  of  Ratto  being  read  out  at  the  watches 
in  the  various  station-houses.  The  mystery  in  the 
disappearance  might  have  remained  unsolved  for 
weeks  had  it  not  been  for  a  lineman,  Waters,  who, 
perched  on  the  cross-tree  of  a  telegraph  pole  com 
manding  a  view  of  the  windows  of  a  room  in  the 
vacant  house  where  Ratto's  dead  body  lay,  made 
the  discovery.  No  policeman  being  in  the  vicinity, 
Waters,  with  residents  of  the  vicinity,  entered  the 
house. 

There  had  followed  much  newspaper  speculation 
and  police  deduction.  The  Mafia  and  the  Camorra 
came  in  for  attention,  the  latter  organisation  being 
one  that  was  at  that  time  —  long  before  the  Viterbo 
trials  —  just  coming  to  the  attention  of  the  Amer 
ican  regular  police  and  the  secret  service,  as  coun 
terfeiting  of  American  currency  formed  one  of  the 
Camorra  accomplishments. 

The  peculiar  interest  in  the  manner  in  which  the 
Ratto  killing  was  discovered  was  this :  three  months 
previously  a  crime  had  been  discovered  under  almost 
identical  circumstances  by  the  same  lineman, 
Waters.  In  that  case  Rosendorn,  a  Jewish  tailor, 
was  found  after  a  several  days'  disappearance  by 
Waters,  at  work  on  the  lines,  who  happened  to  see 
the  body  as  he  glanced  through  the  window  of  a 
vacant  house  from  his  elevated  perch.  Following 
the  discovery  of  the  body  by  Waters  the  case  had 
been  speedily  cleared  up  by  the  police  and  proved  to 
be  an  affair  arising  from  conjugal  jealousy. 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  67 

Waters  was  a  man  well  advanced  in  years.  The 
strain  of  the  appearance  at  the  coroner's  jury  and 
the  preliminary  hearings  in  the  police  court  appeared 
slightly  to  unbalance  his  mind.  The  spectacle  of 
the  murdered  man  that  he  beheld  through  the  win 
dows  of  the  vacant  house  was  constantly  before  him. 
He  was  a  man  who  had  gone  through  a  placid  life 
and  never  figured  in  any  scene  of  shocking  violence 
or  of  murder. 

After  the  disposal  of  the  Rosendorn  case  Waters 
became  possessed  of  a  mania  for  climbing  telegraph 
poles  commanding  the  windows  of  vacant  houses. 
Here  and  there  and  everywhere  about  the  city  he 
might  be  seen  spiking  himself  up  a  pole,  peering 
intently,  and  scuttling  down.  He  was  a  familiar 
figure  to  all  policemen  and  many  citizens.  He  made 
a  practice  of  haunting  police  headquarters,  and,  his 
imagination  beginning  evidently  to  visualise  the  first 
scene,  once  or  twice  led  futile  parties  into  vacant 
houses  with  the  declaration  that  he  had  discovered  a 
body.  The  police  reporters  humoured  him  and  he 
came  to  know  the  most  of  them,  particularly  Lana- 
gan,  who  found  Waters'  case  was  of  profound  in 
terest.  Several  stories  were  written  about  him  and 
his  self-appointed  cross-beam  task  of  discovering 
murdered  people  in  vacant  houses. 

And  then  —  he  "  made  good."  Weeks  of  poking 
and  prying  and  shinning  up  and  down  telegraph 
poles  brought  their  reward  and  Waters  discovered 
another  crime:  that  of  Ratto.  He  had  been  slain 


68  LANAGAN 

with  an  ordinary  blackjack,  which  was  found  by 
the  body. 

During  the  three  days  of  excitement  following 
the  discovery  of  the  commission  merchant's  body 
Waters  thrived  upon  the  publicity  that  he  received. 
He  carried  bundles  of  papers  containing  accounts 
of  his  "  find  "  and  with  his  picture  taken  in  many 
ways:  climbing  up  telegraph  poles,  peering  into  a 
window  from  a  cross-tree  —  a  camera  man  nearly 
lost  his  life  slipping  on  a  cross  beam  taking  this 
picture,  and  as  he  looked  ten  years  ago,  his  last 
"  gallery  "  picture  unearthed  "  exclusively  "  by  a 
proud  "  cub  "  reporter.  He  was  as  tickled  as  a  boy, 
and  it  was  confidently  predicted  around  police  head 
quarters  that  he  would  find  an  end  in  an  insane 
asylum  from  pure  joy  in  a  month. 

But  the  Ratto  case  did  not  clear  up  quite  as  easily 
as  had  the  Rosendorn  case.  It  will  be  recalled  in 
San  Francisco  that  a  swift  night  ride  in  the  police 
launch  to  Black  Diamond  had  resulted  in  the  arrest 
of  Bernardo  Tosci,  claimed  by  the  police  to  be  the 
leader  of  the  Camorra  in  the  west.  A  police  theory 
of  attempted  blackmail  by  that  organisation  seemed 
to  have  been  well  bolstered  up.  The  local  ramifi 
cations  of  the  Camorra  were  proved  beyond  all 
doubt.  Mysterious  persons,  suspected  of  being  Ca 
morra  agents,  who  had  been  seen  talking  to  Ratto 
shortly  before  his  disappearance,  were  being  dili 
gently  sought.  The  fear  of  the  Camorra  by  the 
residents  of  the  Latin  quarter  seriously  hindered 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  69 

the  police  and  newspaper  men  in  their  work,  even 
the  native-speaking  Italian  detail  of  upper  officemen 
making  little  progress  against  the  terror  that  the 
shadow  of  the  Camorra  threw  upon  the  quarter. 
Police  and  newspaper  judgment  were  slowly  settling 
that  Ratto's  death  was  due  to  one  of  those  far- 
reaching  conspiracies  of  the  Camorra  chieftain  and 
his  minions. 

Such  was  the  situation  at  midnight  when  Lana- 
gan  and  I  dropped  out  of  the  reporters'  room.  The 
arrest  of  Tosci  —  that  we  had  been  "  scooped  "  on 

—  had  been  made  shortly  after  midnight  the  night 
before.     A  sullen  "  hunch  "  on  Lanagan's  part  that 
the  crime  was  in  no  way  reminiscent  of  the  methods 
of  the  Camorra,  as  he  understood  those  methods 
from  a  mass  of  inquiry  and  first-hand  reading,  had 
led  us  away  from  the  police  headquarters  just  a  few 
moments  before  Tosci  had  been  slipped  up  the  back 
elevator  and  placed  in  detinue.     The  man  regularly 
assigned  to  the  night  police  detail  at  the  Hall  of  Jus 
tice,  a  new  man  on  the  "  beat,"  had  missed  the  ar 
rest,  working  against  seasoned  men  on  the  Times 
and  the  Herald  with  their  inside  sources  of  prison 
information.     However,  we  were  supposed  to  be 
doing  the  "  heavy  "  work  on  the  story,  so  the  bur 
den  of  the  "  trimming  "  fell  upon  us. 

Lanagan  was  morose.  He  had  nothing  more  to 
say  as  we  walked  down  Kearney  street  and  turned 
up  Broadway.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  Caesar's 

—  the  original  Caesar's  with  the  two  tables  and  the 


70  LANAGAN 

marvellous  cuisine  that  pioneered  the  way  for  the 
glaring  cafe  chantant  of  to-day's  slumming  parties, 
—  but  he  walked  rapidly  past  Caesar's  and  on  to  turn 
in  at  Bresci's,  a  short  distance  up  the  slope  of  Tele 
graph  Hill.  It  was  a  dirty  little  place,  one  of  the 
corner  "  wine  joints  "  sprinkled  thickly  in  out  of 
the  way  pockets  of  the  congested  Latin  quarter.  At 
Bresci's,  in  addition  to  the  bar,  there  was  a  little 
eating  place  at  the  rear,  separated  from  the  bar  by 
dingy  curtains.  One  room  further  back  held  a 
piano,  where  on  occasion  one  might  hear  his  ash 
man,  or  the  flower  vendor  from  Third  and  Market 
streets,  or  a  waiter  off  duty  from  the  downtown 
cafes,  volume  forth  the  Prologue  or  swing  fault 
lessly  through  the  Toreador's  song. 

"  Just  got  a  tip  that  they  are  trying  to  hook  mine 
host  Bresci  into  the  thing  as  a  Camorra  leader,"  was 
all  that  Lanagan  said. 

We  sat  at  one  of  the  tables  while  Lanagan  pulled 
the  faded  curtains  almost  together.  Madam  Bresci, 
she  of  the  famed  saute  mele,  was  indisposed,  so 
the  daughter,  Bina,  would  serve  us,  if  agreeable? 
Perfectly  so,  said  Lanagan,  rather  with  a  note  of 
satisfaction  it  struck  me,  though  when  I  glanced  at 
his  face  in  some  surprise,  for  he  was  a  man  who  was 
ordinarily  unmoved  of  women,  it  was  expressionless. 

Bresci  went  on  to  his  bar  after  giving  orders  at 
the  kitchen,  and  we  sat  there  some  time  in  silence; 
long  enough  for  Lanagan  to  send  the  nicotine  of 
three  evil  Manilas  to  his  lungs.  I  saw  that  his  eyes 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  71 

never  left  the  opening  through  the  curtains.  Then 
his  cigar,  from  his  mouth  for  the  moment,  was 
suspended  in  air  on  its  travel  back  and  I  followed  his 
sharp  glance  through  the  curtain. 

Dinoli  and  Alberta,  two  plainclothes  men  detailed 
in  the  Latin  quarter,  had  entered  the  saloon.  In 
stantly  the  babble  from  the  voices  of  many  volatile 
Italians  ceased.  The  saloon  on  the  moment  became 
quiet,  save  for  the  rattling  of  glasses  and  one  click 
of  the  old-fashioned  maplewood  cash  register.  The 
detectives  passed  the  time  with  Bresci,  casually 
"  sized  up "  the  gathering,  missing  Lanagan  and 
myself,  and  left.  Instantly  there  broke  forth  a  riot 
of  sputtering  Italian.  The  word  "  Ratto "  we 
heard  and  then,  obviously  at  some  motion  toward 
our  curtains  from  Bresci,  the  babble  stopped  as  sud 
denly  as  it  began  and  within  five  moments  the 
throng  had  idled  out  and  the  saloon  was  still. 

"  Bresci,"  demanded  Lanagan  suddenly,  "  what 
were  they  saying  out  there  about  Ratto?  Were 
they  Camorrists?  " 

Bresci's  hand  went  straight  over  his  head. 

"  Corpo  di  Christ o!  Non!  Non!  "  he  exclaimed, 
paling.  "  Oh,  never  speek  such  word  here !  Non ! 
They  say,  too  bad  Ratto  he  keeled !" 

He  mopped  his  brow  of  its  perspiration,  suddenly 
started,  and  glanced  furtively  through  the  curtains 
to  see  whether  anyone  had  come  in  and  heard  the 
conversation. 

"  I  think  you're  a  liar,  Bresci,"  said  Lanagan 


72  LANAGAN 

pleasantly.  "  But  as  I  can't  talk  Italian,  I  can't 
prove  it.  It's  pretty  funny  how  that  pow-wow  shut 
up  the  minute  those  coppers  blew  through  that  door. 
But  you  better  wipe  your  streaming  brow  again  and 
beat  it  back  to  the  bar.  You've  got  a  customer. 
Who  is  — "  Lanagan  whispered  to  me  as  Bresci 
left,  "  no  other  than  Lawrence  Morton  of  the  secret 
service,  just  assigned  here  from  Seattle." 

Then  he  continued,  "  I  met  him  the  other  day  on 
that  counterfeiting  story  at  the  beach.  Just  a  shade 
curious,  I  should  say,  the  attention  Bresci  is  attract 
ing  to-night  from  the  big  and  the  little  hawkshaws. 
It  bears  out  my  '  tip.' ' 

Morton  had  a  drink  or  two,  complained  of  being 
tired,  and  drifted  casually  over  to  the  curtains, 
opened  them,  saw  us,  and  was  backing  easily  away 
when  Lanagan  called  out  from  the  darkness  —  he 
had  turned  off  the  incandescent  earlier : 

"  Come  in,  Morton.  Nothing  to  get  exclusive 
over,"  switching  on  the  light. 

Morton  dropped  into  a  chair.  If  he  was  per 
turbed  at  being  "  made  "  he  did  not  show  it.  He 
was  generally  reputed  one  of  the  two  or  three  clev 
erest  operators  in  the  government  service. 

"  That  was  good  work  you  did  on  Iowa  Slim, 
from  all  I  hear,"  he  vouchsafed. 

"  There's  a  better  coming  up,"  replied  Lanagan, 
indifferently.  "  What  brings  you  to  Bresci's  ?  " 

Morton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  know  the  two  rules  of  our  department?" 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  73 

"  Guard  the  president  and  turn  up  counterfeit 
ers,"  said  Lanagan. 

"  Well,  Lanagan,  you've  got  the  cachet  to  me 
from  a  good  friend.  The  secret  service  man  loses 
his  job  who  talks;  but  I  don't  mind  taking  a  chance 
with  you  and  telling  you  in  confidence  that  in  this 
particular  case  I'm  not  guarding  the  president;  be 
ing  as  he  is,  as  you  know,  in  Washington." 

"  Haven't  been  sampling  any  —  er  —  salami?  " 
drawled  Lanagan. 

Morton  laughed.  "  You  sure  are  a  clever  one  at 
that.  No.  I  haven't  come  across  any  that  suited 
my  palate.  I'm  particular." 

We  had  a  cafe  royale  —  with  Lanagan  pouring 
his  thimble- full  of  cognac  in  my  glass  —  and  Mor 
ton  left. 

"  The  Camorra,  it  develops,"  said  Lanagan, 

"  have  been  shipping  to  this  country  from 

excellent  counterfeit  American  bank  notes.  They 
ship  them  in  salami  sausages.  Maybe  if  one  has 
gone  astray  we  will  get  a  slice  of  bank  note  with  our 
salami  and  saute,  for  here  it  comes  on  a  tray  with 
the  fair  Bina  serving." 

Bina,  Bresci's  daughter,  was  an  Italian  of  abso 
lute  beauty;  one  of  those  glowing  faces  and  perfect 
forms  you  see  in  the  old  Italian  masters. 

I  noticed  in  a  moment  that  the  comely  Bina  had 
much  attention  to  show  Lanagan.  We  finished  our 
meal  and  Lanagan  led  the  way  to  the  inner  room, 
where  the  piano  was  located.  I  had  heard  him  at 


74  LANAGAN 

different  times  sputter  out  "  rag,"  but  when  Nevin's 
"  A  Day  in  Venice  "  suite  came  breathing  softly 
beneath  his  ringer  tips  from  out  of  that  wrangly 
piano  I  could  but  listen  in  amazement.  Man  of 
mysterious  beginnings,  he  had  dropped  into  the  San 
Francisco  newspaper  game  over  night,  been  given 
his  "  try-out  "  by  the  brotherhood,  found  to  speak 
the  language  of  the  tribe,  and  had  thereafter  been 
unconditionally  accepted.  Such  a  mess  as  the  Brad 
ley  affair  only  served  to  emphasise  his  leadership. 

With  the  last  fine  chord  of  the  Buona  Notts  there 
was  a  stillness  broken  only  by  the  instant  and 
ecstatic  handclapping  of  Bina.  If  I  ever  saw  the 
thing  called  Love  shine  forth  from  the  human  eyes, 
it  suddenly  illuminated  those  dusky  eyes  that  mo 
ment. 

"O  Madonna!  Madonna!"  she  cried,  softly. 
"  Encore !  Encore !  " 

Lanagan  zipped  through  a  lustspeil,  to  drop  back 
then  to  the  Last  Composition.  It  was  truly  remark 
able,  the  manner  in  which  he  brought  the  encroach 
ing  blindness  of  the  great  Beethoven  sobbing  out  of 
the  misery  of  the  minor  base. 

"  Did  a  lot  of  that  sort  of  thing  when  I  was 
younger,"  he  said,  apologetically.  "  Before  the 
wanderlust  hit  me." 

He  was  through.  Bina  fluttered  about  him  and 
Lanagan's  head  was  close  to  hers.  She  was  a  full- 
sexed  creature  but  young;  and  I  balked.  I  spoke 
to  Lanagan  sharply  after  a  moment  or  two  and  we 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  75 

departed.  She  gave  him  a  shy  little  glance  as  he 
left 

He  laughed.  "  What  a  Covenanter  you  are !  A 
psalm  singer  gone  wrong  for  fair !  " 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  I  said,  stubbornly,  but  with  the 
best  of  intentions.  "  She's  only  a  child."  I  didn't 
yet  know  all  the  sides  of  this  man  Lanagan. 

He  whirled  on  me:  and  I  got  a  swift  sense  of  the 
power  that  could  flash  from  those  dark  eyes,  and  I 
felt,  with  the  intimacy  of  personal  experience,  how 
effective  they  must  be  when  working  upon  a  guilty 
mind. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  Howard,"  he  bit  out,  using  my 
given  name  for  the  first  time  in  our  friendship, 
"  Norrie  "  being  his  ordinary  salutation,  "  that  I'm 
working  on  the  Ratto  story.  Get  me?  What  do 
you  take  me  for,  anyhow?  I've  stood  one  welt 
from  my  own  kind  to-night  and  I  don't  want  an 
other." 

Lanagan  received  his  second  apology  of  the  night ; 
but  he  didn't  appear  to  want  it  at  that.  His  un 
canny  faculty  of  reading  men's  minds  seemed  to  tell 
him  that  my  remark  was  in  good  faith. 

"  Forget  it,"  he  laughed.  "  But  just  for  that, 
Norrie,  I'll  keep  to  myself  for  the  present  the  inter 
esting  bit  of  information  that  Bina  gave  me;  for 
Bresci  is  a  Camorra  agent  after  all,  and  Bina,  who 
is  all  eyes  and  ears,  knows  precisely  the  truth  about 
Ratto's  death  in  so  far  as  it  pertains  to  the  Camorra. 
I  guess  that  will  hold  you  for  a  while?  But  what 


76  LANAGAN 

a  lover  of  music  she  is !  Let's  call  it  a  day.  Don't 
look  for  me  to-morrow.  I'm  off  on  a  little  lay  of 
my  own.  Keep  in  general  reach  of  a  telephone  so 
I  can  get  you  in  a  hurry  and  give  that  slavedriver 
of  a  Sampson  my  distinguished  compliments  and 
tell  him  I  will  show  up  when  it  pleases  me  to  get 
d —  good  and  ready." 

I  hammered  away  at  the  routine  of  the  story  the 
next  day  —  I  was  just  a  plain  plodder,  ordinarily 
dependable,  but  never  particularly  brilliant  —  and 
neither  saw  Lanagan  nor  heard  from  him.  A  lively 
angle  was  given  to  the  story  when  Dinola  and  Al- 
berti  discovered,  concealed  in  one  of  Ratto's  game 
refrigerators,  six  choice  salami  sausages  that  his 
death  had  evidently  prevented  him  disposing  of  in 
the  proper  way,  for  neatly  rolled  in  a  half-inch  wad 
in  the  dead  centre  of  each,  was  a  roll  of  ten  $100 
gold  bills  of  U.  S.  currency. 

The  secret  service  men,  apprised,  raged  at  the 
information  being  given  to  the  press,  claiming  that 
they  had  been  working  to  round  up  the  entire  gang 
for  months,  and  that  the  publication  would  serve  as 
warning  to  the  others.  But  Leslie,  more  concerned 
with  solving  the  Ratto  mystery,  and  hanging  it  on 
Tosci  than  with  handling  Uncle  Sam's  minor  details, 
and  being  also  a  great  believer  in  the  assistance  in 
telligent  newspaper  publicity  could  be  to  the  police, 
gave  the  facts  out.  The  facts  would  appear  to  link 
Ratto  indubitably  with  the  Camorra  ring  engaged  in 
the  importation  of  counterfeit  currency  and  obvi- 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  77 

ously  eliminated  the  Camorra  blackmail  theory  witH 
respect  to  his  death. 

With  Ratto  now  definitely  established  as  a  leader 
of  the  slippery  Camorra  —  it  was  a  hard  organisa 
tion  to  get  definite  proof  on  —  the  police  were 
thrown  back  on  a  theory  of  a  fight  between  Camorra 
leaders,  possibly  over  some  division  of  the  profits 
or  some  breach  of  faith.  The  Camorra  history 
shows  that  it  was  not  —  nor  is  not  —  slow  to  take 
vengeance  even  on  its  own  people. 

Lanagan  was  missing  the  next  day  again,  and  I 
was  surprised,  in  view  of  the  sensational  develop 
ments.  I  was  following  the  police  lead  and  it  all 
pointed  to  the  Camorra  to  me.  Nor  did  he  appear 
for  work  the  third  day  nor  give  me  word  of  himself. 
And  on  this  day  the  police  had  an  admission  from 
Tosci  that  he  had  visited  Ratto  on  the  evening  of 
his  disappearance ! 

It  may  be  well  to  say  here,  too,  that  the  secret 
service  men,  although  working  at  cross-purposes 
with  the  regular  police,  had  been  putting  the  screws 
to  Tosci  and  Morton  had  finally  gotten  enough  in 
formation  to  supplement  his  own  investigations,  and 
in  a  swift  swoop  five  members  of  the  Tosci  gang 
were  in  the  federal  cells  at  the  Oakland  jail  charged 
with  handling  counterfeit  money. 

All  in  all,  the  situation  was  growing  highly  com 
plex  for  a  routine  plodder,  and  still  no  Lanagan !  I 
had  just  about  made  up  my  mind  to  go  on  a  still 
hunt  for  him,  confident  that  he  must  have  broken 


78  LANAGAN 

his  vows  of  abstinence,  when  he  called  me  up.    His 
message  was  curt : 

"  Suggest  to  Sampson  to  stick  personally  until  he 
hears  from  me.  Meet  me  at  once  at  Hyde  and 
Lombard." 

Sampson  usually  left  the  office  at  midnight.  Lana- 
gan  preferred  his  dynamic  energy  on  the  desk  when 
a  big  smash  was  on ;  and  when  he  asked  for  Samp 
son  personally  I  knew  he  had  landed.  And  Samp 
son  always  preferred  being  at  the  city  desk  when 
Lanagan  was  swinging  home  on  the  bit. 

"  Fine  work !  "  was  all  Sampson  said ;  it  was  not 
in  his  cold-blooded  cosmos  to  show  disinterested 
enthusiasm.  Possibly  it  was  that  characteristic, 
coupled  with  twenty  years'  seasoning  at  the  wheel, 
that  made  him  the  greatest  city  editor  in  the  West. 

Lanagan's  clothes  had  that  peculiarly  hand-dog 
appearance  that  the  newest  suit  will  get  when  a  man 
has  slept  in  it  once  or  twice;  and  Lanagan's  clothes 
were  seldom  new,  so  the  appearance  was  empha 
sised.  He  had  evidently  found  no  time  either  to 
shave  or  change  his  collar.  Worn  lines  were  about 
his  mouth  and  eyes  such  as  you  see  in  athletes  who 
have  "  pulled  off "  weight  in  hard  training.  But 
his  eyes,  those  dark,  mesmeric  eyes,  were  sparkling 
and  the  old  engaging  trick  of  smiling  was  there. 

"  Began  to  think  maybe  I  had  '  lost  my  grip,'  ' 
he  said,  with  a  short  laugh.     "  But  I  have  either 
turned  up  one  of  the  finest  police  stories  in  my  time 
or  I  have  gone  plumb  crazy.     We  will  soon  know." 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  79 

Without  more  words,  he  walked  quickly  several 
blocks  down  over  the  eastern  slope  of  the  hill  and 
turned  into  a  narrow  tradesman's  alley.  I  noticed 
that  he  was  watching  keenly  before  and  after  us. 
He  slipped  through  a  gate  in  a  high  board  fence 
and  we  were  in  a  yard  overgrown  with  shrubbery 
and  weeds.  The  house  was  a  corner  one  and  of 
that  familiar  type  of  old  family  residence,  seen  in 
most  localities,  that  has  gone  to  seed  on  a  mortgage. 
It  was  vacant.  He  opened  the  kitchen  door  with  a 
skeleton  key  and  we  walked  upstairs,  turning  into 
a  large  room  commanding  a  view  of  the  street.  He 
kept  away  from  the  window,  I  noticed. 

"  Draw  up  the  Morris  chair,"  he  said  facetiously, 
as  he  squatted  on  his  legs.  I  sat  down  against  the 
wall  and  pulled  out  a  cigar  but  he  stopped  me. 

"  Can't  take  a  chance.  Smell  of  smoke  might 
give  the  whole  thing  away.  See  anything  curious 
about  this  room?  " 

I  looked  at  the  bareness  of  it  and  shook  my  head. 

"  Examine  it,"  he  said.  "  You  haven't  even 
looked  it  over." 

I  knew  he  was  not  given  to  joking,  so  I  got  up 
and  went  over  the  room  carefully.  The  door  to 
the  hall  was  swung  back  against  the  wall  and  I 
closed  it. 

Hanging  on  the  door  knob  by  the  leather  wrist 
thong  was  a  blackjack,  a  duplicate  of  the  one  with 
which  Ratto  was  slain.  Lanagan  was  laughing 
quietly. 


8o  LANAGAN 

"  What  are  your  sensations  at  being  in  a  prospec 
tive  death  chamber  ?  "  he  asked. 

Visions  of  being  suddenly  pocketed  in  that  vast, 
out  of  the  way  mansion  by  a  ring  of  Camorrists, 
assailed  me,  and  I  instinctively  felt  for  my  re 
volver. 

"  Don't  worry,"  said  the  baffling  Lanagan.  "  The 
trap  won't  spring  for  several  hours  yet.  But  after 
it  does  spring,"  he  went  on,  "  and  this  mess  is  over, 
I'm  prepared  to  present  the  fair  Bina  with  the  big 
gest  box  of  French  mixed  in  town.  That  is,"  quiz 
zically,  "  if  my  puritanical  Mentor  will  permit  me 
to  ?  But  seriously,  Norrie," —  his  next  words  came 
forth  rather  hurriedly,  and  much  as  a  shamed  school 
boy  might  make  a  confession, — "  seriously  these 
Italian  girls  are  mature  women  at  sixteen.  And 
though  you  may  not  think  it,  I  am  only  thirty-four." 

When  it  filtered  into  me  what  he  was  driving  at 
I  jumped  to  my  feet  and  pulled  him  to  his. 

"  Jack,"  I  cried  delightedly,  "  you  don't  mean  — " 

"  No,"  he  said,  shortly,  "  I  don't  mean  anything, 
now  or  any  other  time,  Norrie,  until  I've  taken  a 
seat  on  this  water  wagon  that  I  know  I  can  ride  for 
life." 

My  thoughts  shot  back  to  that  declaration  in  the 
reporters'  room  that  I  had  pondered  often  since 
uttered.  It  was  clear  enough  now.  He  was  a 
man's  man,  Jack  Lanagan;  and  looking  back  now 
even  after  the  years  that  have  passed  since  then, 
looking  back  from  the  content  of  my  own  cosy 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  81 

home,  the  tears  spring  and  I  stop  writing.  He  did 
not  marry  Bina. 

"  That's  about  enough  of  that,"  he  said.  "  I 
wanted  you  to  get  the  lay  of  the  house  by  daylight. 
Let's  get  out  of  here.  I've  got  to  see  Leslie." 

But  we  were  only  as  far  as  the  head  of  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  lower  floor  when  a  key  grated  in  a 
lock  some  place  beneath  us  and  Lanagan  gripped 
my  arm,  his  finger  to  his  lips,  his  eyes  glit 
tering  like  a  snake's.  We  swung  back  on  tiptoes 
to  a  small  closet  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  pulling  the 
door  almost  shut  after  us.  Lanagan  dropped,  his 
eye  to  the  keyhole.  He  had  drawn  his  revolver  and 
I  drew  mine;  my  heart  was  beginning  to  thump 
like  a  big  bass  drum.  There  came  to  my  ears  the 
sound  of  footfalls  up  the  creaking  stairs.  At  first 
it  seemed  like  a  dozen  men  and  I  concluded  for  once 
that  one  of  Lanagan's  traps  was  going  to  spring  the 
wrong  way. 

The  footfalls  disintegrated  as  they  came  nearer 
and  I  found  there  was  but  one  person.  Lanagan's 
eye  might  have  been  stuck  fast  to  that  keyhole,  for 
his  hat  brim  did  not  waver  the  fraction  of  an  inch 
as  he  held  his  rigid,  cramped  position  for  long  min 
ute  after  minute. 

Finally  the  footfalls  sounded  back  down  the  stairs. 
Lanagan  did  not  move  until,  to  our  taut  ear  drums, 
came  the  sound  of  the  closing  rear  door. 

"Well?"  I  asked  him,  wiping  the  perspiration 
from  my  forehead. 


82  LANAGAN 

All  he  said  was  "  Fine !  Fine !  Wait  a  bit  yet, 
Norrie!  That  was  merely  a  scout,  taking  a  last 
look  to  be  sure  that  blackjack  hadn't  been  removed 
by  any  prospective  tenants  who  might  have  been 
here." 

He  glanced  at  his  dollar  watch.  It  was  six 
o'clock. 

"  There'll  be  two  good  hours  before  darkness," 
he  said.  "  We'll  take  a  chance  and  leave  the  house 
uncovered  while  I  get  hold  of  the  chief.  Unless 
you  want  to  stay  here?"  he  asked  banteringly.  I 
did  not  want  to  stay  there,  but  he  had  me  squarely 
in  the  door,  as  it  were,  and  I  had  to  say  I  would  if 
he  wanted  it.  I  sometimes  think  many  a  man  is 
made  a  hero  against  his  will.  Then  a  great  shaft 
of  illumination  struck  me  and  I  asked : 

"  Here,  Jack ;  why  should  they  bring  that  black 
jack  here?  They  could  bring  a  dozen  with  them 
and  nobody  be  any  the  wiser." 

But  all  the  satisfaction  I  got  out  of  that  inscruta 
ble,  irritating  man  was :  "  How  bright  the  under 
study  is  becoming !  You'll  be  tackling  high  C  your 
self  next!" 

"  However,"  he  went  on,  "  I'm  not  going  to  per 
mit  you  to  remain  here.  Firstly  and  mainly,  be 
cause  I  am  confident  nothing  will  happen  until  after 
dark,  although  for  a  moment  I  thought  my  theory 
had  gone  wrong,  and  in  the  second  place,  because 
you  might  scramble  the  whole  platter  on  me  and  get 
to  shooting  recklessly." 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  83 

We  slipped  out  of  the  alley  after  Lanagan  had 
reconnoitred  long.  He  had  good  reason  for  not 
wishing  to  appear  at  police  headquarters.  It  was 
generally  known  that  he  was  off  on  some  sort  of  a 
still  hunt.  He  had  been  seen  occasionally  by  some 
of  the  boys,  and  it  was  known,  too,  that  he  was  not 
drinking.  His  appearance  at  headquarters  in  con 
ference  with  Leslie  therefore  might  bring  a  corps 
of  sharp-eyed  newspaper  men  on  our  trail. 

He  got  Leslie  on  the  wire,  and  within  thirty  min 
utes  was  in  deep  conversation  with  that  astute  thief- 
taker  in  the  rear  room  at  Allenberg's.  There  were 
few  sections  of  the  city  where  Lanagan  was  not  on 
intimate  terms  with  saloonmen.  There  are  many 
times  when  they  can  be  valuable  to  the  police  re 
porter,  particularly  in  the  Tenderloin  and  down 
town.  The  two  did  not  take  me  into  their  confi 
dence,  but  once  I  heard  Leslie  say,  explosively : 

"  Jack,  you're  as  daffy  as  a  horned  toad." 

I  caught  only  part  of  Lanagan's  answer.  He  was 
talking  earnestly. 

"  I  tell  you,  Chief,  my  information  is  correct. 
I've  got  the  only  leak  in  San  Francisco  into  the 
Camorra  and  neither  you  nor  the  secret  service  have 
a  man  who  can  tap  it.  It's  worth  a  chance,  I  tell 
you.  We'll  want  Brady,  Wilson  and  Maloney. 
We've  got  to  cover  every  point,  take  no  chances  of 
a  murder  getting  by  on  us,  and  smash  this  thing 
right  on  the  nose." 


84  LANAGAN 

Leslie  studied  Lanagan  long  and  carefully.  He 
had  never  been  wrong  yet. 

"  Not  drinking,  Jack  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  Not  a  smell  in  three  months,"  said  Lanagan. 

"  You're  on,"  the  chief  finally  said,  decisively. 

I  grew  restive  at  not  being  taken  "  in,"  but  Lana 
gan  said  I  was  becoming  so  very  bright  that  a  little 
discipline  would  do  me  good ;  barkening  back,  I  sup 
pose,  to  that  remark  about  the  blackjack.  I  said 
no  more.  They  outlined  their  plan.  Maloney  was 
to  hide  in  the  yard  of  the  house  directly  across  from 
the  alley  gate  —  in  that  old-fashioned  neighbour 
hood,  tight  board  fences  and  hedgerows  are  common 
—  and  Wilson  across  the  street  where  he  could  com 
mand  the  window  to  the  room  where  the  blackjack 
hung.  We  three,  with  Brady,  were  to  take  our  po 
sition  inside  the  house.  The  moment  anybody  en 
tered  the  alley  gate,  or  by  the  front  door  —  Lanagan 
considered  it  likely  that  that  approach  might  be 
taken  under  cover  of  darkness  —  Maloney  was  to 
lift  himself  to  the  fence  top  and  strike  a  match. 
Wilson,  in  turn,  as  though  lighting  a  cigar,  would 
strike  a  match,  and  one  or  the  other  of  us,  watching 
back  from  the  room  window  of  the  house,  would 
know  that  the  trap  was  set.  In  addition  to  watch 
ing  for  Maloney's  signal,  Wilson's  position  enabled 
him  easily  to  cover  the  front  door.  Lanagan,  it 
appeared,  had  planned  the  coup  hours  before  and 
had  his  coverts  already  selected. 

Their  vigil  ended  on  the  outside,  Maloney  and 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  85 

Wilson  were  then  to  jump  and  cover  the  front  and 
rear  doors,  respectively,  in  case  of  any  miscue  inside 
that  might  permit  of  an  escape.  "  Miscue  "  was 
Lanagan's  word:  and  I  reflected  with  some  appre 
hension,  that  any  "  miscue  "  with  such  nervy  of 
ficers  as  Leslie  and  Brady  that  would  permit  an  es 
cape  out  of  that  house  would  mean  that  probably  all 
of  us  would  be  candidates  for  morgue  slabs. 

Dusk  found  us  all  drifting  one  by  one  to  our  sta 
tions.  When  I  finally  entered  through  the  alley 
door,  I  could  see  neither  Maloney  nor  Wilson,  and 
yet  I  knew  they  had  both  gone  before  me  and  were 
in  position.  I  was  the  last  one  in  and  Lanagan  was 
waiting  there  to  lock  the  kitchen  door  after  me.  We 
trooped  silently  upstairs,  shoes  off  and  in  hand. 

It  was  an  unreal  situation,  waiting  there  as  the 
deeper  blackness  of  night  settled  down  and  the  night 
sounds  of  an  empty  house  assailed  us  magnified. 
Brady  was  standing  the  watch  at  the  window  for 
the  signal.  The  rest  of  us  were  lined  up  in  the 
broad  hall.  It  was  so  dark  you  couldn't  see  a  man 
a  foot  in  front  of  you.  Hours  it  seemed  to  me 
must  have  passed,  with  no  conversation  save  a  scat 
tered  whisper  or  so.  We  had  tried  the  hall  and 
room  floors  and  the  door  to  the  hall  closet  and  they 
gave  out  no  squeaks. 

"Psst!" 

Softly,  sibilantly,  came  Brady's  signal.  We 
backed  into  the  closet.  Brady  in  a  second  was  with 
us.  The  door  was  opened  six  inches  with  Lanagan 


86  LANAGAN 

and  Leslie  ready  for  a  spring.  I  was  in  some 
fashion  away  back  in  the  rear  of  the  closet. 

A  key  grated  in  the  kitchen  lock,  and  it  sounded 
through  the  vast  empty  house  with  a  peculiarly  sin 
ister  harshness.  It  was  a  situation  certainly  unique 
in  crime !  The  stairs  creaked  —  there  was  the 
sound  of  heavy,  laboured  breathing.  But  there  was 
but  one  set  of  footfalls !  We  heard  the  door  open 
to  the  room  where  the  ugly  blackjack  hung,  and  as 
it  did  Leslie  swung  our  door  out  and,  silently  as  so 
many  black  ghosts,  we  moved  to  the  other  door. 

Against  the  window  we  could  see  a  man's  form 
dimly  outlined.  And  then  — 

There  was  a  flash  of  blinding  brilliance,  a  report 
that  crashed  in  the  empty  stillness  of  the  abandoned 
mansion  with  the  reverberation  of  a  twelve-pound 
gun,  and  under  the  arcs  of  the  swiftly  flashing 
pocket  lights  of  Brady  and  Leslie,  we  beheld, 
stretched  almost  at  our  feet  as  the  form  toppled 
backward  and  stiffened  out  — 

Waters! 

There  was  a  gushing  wound  in  the  temple.  Death 
had  been  instantaneous.  With  an  eagerness  that 
was  more  animal  than  human,  Lanagan  tore  back 
Waters'  coat,  ran  his  hands  swiftly  through  his 
every  pocket,  and  finally,  with  a  "Ha!"  of  satis 
faction  like  a  snarl,  pulled  out  from  an  unsealed  en 
velope  in  an  inside  pocket  a  page  of  writing: 

"Daffy,  chief:  Daffy,  as  a  horned  toad?  .Well, 
here's  the  proof!  " 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  87 

Written  in  the  hand  and  phraseology  of  a  fairly 
intelligent  man,  it  was  as  follows : 

"  /  killed  Ratio.  I  guess  I  have  been  crazy.  I 
went  crazy  looking  -for  murdered  people  in  vacant 
houses  from  telegraph  poles.  I  couldn't  find  any 
more,  and  then  I  thought  I  would  kill  somebody.  I\ 
told  Ratio  on  the  street  that  I  had  seen  a  man's  body 
in  that  house  and  he  went  in  with  me.  I  had  never 
seen  him  before.  I  had  left  the  door  open  as  I  ran 
out  to  him,  but  he  didn't  suspect  anything.  I  killed 
him  with  a  blackjack  and  then  found  the  body  in 
three  days,  from  the  telegraph  pole.  I  had  picked 
out  the  place  several  days  ahead.  I  got  everything 
ready  and  came  up  several  times  and  it  was  funny 
no  one  saw  me.  I  thought  Ratio  zvould  say  get  the 
police  but  he  was  nervy  all  right  and  jumped  right 
in  after  me. 

"  The  room  in  this  house  I  discovered  in  the 
same  way.  It  was  even  better  than  the  flat  where 
Ratio  was  killed  because  the  neighbourhood  didn't 
have  so  many  people.  The  black  jack  is  on  the 
door  knob.  I  put  it  there  so  as  I  went  into  the 
room  first  to  light  a  match  I  could  take  it  off  the 
inside  door  knob  and  hit  my  man  as  he  followed 
me  in. 

"  That  reporter  Lanagan  and  another  man  were 
hanging  around  this  neighbourhood  to-day.  He 
has  been  talking  to  me  kind  of  suspicious  lately  and 
I  guess  the  jig  is  up.  It's  funny  the  police  never 
suspected  me. 


88  LANAGAN 

"I  guess  I  have  been  crazy  all  right.  I  rvould 
hang  anyhow.  But  I  am  all  right  now  and  I  will 
kill  myself  in  the  room.  It's  all  the  return  I  can 
make  for  Ratio.  If  nobody  hears  the  shot  I  hope 
somebody  finds  me  from  a  telegraph  pole.  It  will 
give  the  newspapers  lots  to  write  about.  That's 
what  made  me  crazy.  I  got  too  much  fame,  I 
guess. 

"William  Waters." 

There  was  a  prolonged  pause.     Then: 

"  Humph,"  growled  Leslie  savagely.  "  The 
'  fame  '  you  got  isn't  a  marker  to  the  fame  '  that  re 
porter  Lanagan  has  heaped  on  me.  For  the  orig 
inal  ass  I'm  it.  I  took  that  fellow  for  a  loon. 
Jack,  shake." 

Lanagan  could  not  forbear  a  soft  sarcasm. 
That  "  daffy  as  a  horned  toad  "  rankled : 

"  Give  your  men  a  little  class  in  Kraft-Ebing, 
Lombroso,  Nordau  or  some  of  those  specialists  and 
you  will  get  a  better  understanding  of  the  pulling 
power  of  crime,"  he  said,  dryly.  "  I  hadn't  fig 
ured  quite  this  kind  of  a  finish,"  he  went  on.  "  But 
the  minute  he  blazed  that  shot  into  his  brain  I  was 
sure  he  had  left  a  confession.  If  he  couldn't  get 
notoriety  in  life  he  would  in  death." 

Quickly  Lanagan  told  of  his  suspicions  settling 
on  Waters  after  Bina,  his  "  leak  "  to  the  Camorra, 
had  told  him  that  the  death  of  Ratto  was  as  much 
of  a  mystery  to  the  Camorrists  as  it  was  to  the 
police.  With  Bresci  a  Camorra  leader,  the  wise- 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  ONE  89 

eyed  and  wise-eared  little  Bina  heard  and  saw  much 
that  Lanagan  in  turn  was  told.  On  her  say-so,  he 
had  absolutely  dismissed  the  Camorra.  He  set 
himself  to  watch  Waters  and  for  three  days  and 
nights  scarcely  ever  let  the  lineman  out  of  his  sight. 
From  safe  vantage  points  he  had  watched  Waters 
at  his  grisly  work  of  climbing  innumerable  tele 
graph  poles.  At  times  he  had  casually  picked  him 
up  and  talked  with  him.  It  was  evident  that  he 
had  also  aroused  Waters'  suspicions.  He  noticed 
him  lingering  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  house 
where  we  now  were  and  finally  sneak  in  by  the 
alley  door.  After  he  left  the  house  Lanagan  had 
hunted  up  a  locksmith,  secured  a  set  of  skeleton 
keys  himself,  and  let  himself  into  the  house,  not 
knowing  exactly  what  to  expect. 

He  found  the  blackjack  on  the  door  knob,  saw  the 
telegraph  pole  out  of  the  window  and  in  a  flash 
had  realised  the  entire  plan  of  the  crazed  lineman. 

Lanagan  assumed  that  Waters  would  not  attempt 
to  lure  his  victim  in  daylight.  He  had  come  back 
to  the  house  while  we  were  there  merely  moved  by 
some  insane  morbidity  to  visit  again  the  scene 
selected  for  the  crime;  picture  possibly  the  slain 
man  on  the  floor,  himself  peering  in  from  the 
telegraph  pole;  and  then  the  columns  of  newspaper 
space.  That  the  room  was  commanded  by  a  tele 
graph  pole  I  had  not  noticed  during  the  day  or  even 
my  sluggish  wits  might  have  given  me  a  hint  of 
the  truth. 


go  LANAGAN 

"  The  shot  seems  to  have  raised  no  stir  outside, 
Chief."  said  Lanagan,  briskly,  when  the  recital  was 
done.  "  Call  in  Wilson  and  Maloney  and  stick 
around  and  give  us  two  hours  lee-way  before  you 
get  the  morgue.  It's  twelve-thirty. 

"  Now,  son,  you  hit  the  pike  with  me  for  the 
Enquirer! " 


IV 

WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY 


IV 

WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY 

AT  Riordan's,  much  frequented  by  policemen 
and  reporters,  Jack  Lanagan  sat  with  Leslie, 
that  greatest  chief  of  his  time,  discussing  one  of 
Dan's  delectable  Bismarck  herrings  and  a  "  steam." 
It  was  not  above  the  very  human  Leslie  to  mingle 
in  the  free  democracy  of  Dan's  back  room,  where 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Fourth  Estate  foregathered 
to  settle  in  seasoned  nonchalance  the  problems  of 
the  world. 

Leslie  was  speaking. 

;'  You  haven't  lost  out,  Jack,"  he  was  saying. 
"  But  if  that  narrow-gauge  Sampson  elects  to  fire 
you  —  which  I  know  he  won't  —  I'll  give  you  work 
if  I've  got  to  pay  you  out  of  my  contingent  fund. 
Get  off  that  suisses  diet  and  report.  The  Enquirer 
can't  afford  to  lose  you." 

Lanagan,  unshaven  for  a  week,  looked  otherwise 
disreputable. 

"  The  Enquirer,"  he  reported  judicially,  "  can 
afford  to  lose  anybody.  It's  a  sweatshop  life,  re 
porting;  and  they  fill  your  place  just  as  easily  as 
Schwartz,  down  there  on  Stevenson  Street,  fills  a 
place  at  one  of  his  shirt  machines.  Nothing  is  as 
dead  as  a  yesterday's  paper  —  excepting  it  has  a 
93 


94  LANAGAN 

libel  in  it;  and  nothing  is  so  perishable  as  a  re 
porter's  reputation.  The  slate  is  swabbed  clean 
once  every  twenty-four  hours.  Your  job  is  pre 
cisely  that  long." 

"  Rats.  You're  in  a  beautiful  humour.  They 
can't  forget  that  Iowa  Slim  exclusive  very  soon." 

"  No;  but  only  because  of  the  fact  that  I  haven't 
shown  up  for  work  since.  They  had  given  me 
warning  before  then.  I'm  through  unless  they  send 
for  me,  and  they  don't  seem  to  be  doing  that.  As 
a  matter  of  cold-blooded  fact,  the  Enquirer  likes 
my  work  but  not  my  weakness.  My  type  don't  get 
much  sympathy  these  times.  I  belong  to  the  gen 
eration  of  the  tramp  printer;  the  days  of  a  real 
ethical  code  in  the  profession.  We  old-timers  are 
taking  the  gad  —  what  few  of  us  there  are  left  — 
three  times  over  for  an  even  break  with  these  peg- 
topped  trouser  boys  at  ten  a  week  who  once  wrote 
a  class  farce. 

"  No,  chief,"  concluded  Lanagan  dispassionately 
and  deliberately,  "  I  guess  I've  shot  my  bolt  in  San 
Francisco.  I'll  ship  on  a  banana  boat  and  flag  it  on 
to  Panama.  Maybe  when  I  get  there  I  wrill  tangle 
up  in  some  big  complication  and  another  Davis  will 
come  along  to  chronicle  me  with  that  other  Derelict ; 
a  grand  story,  by  the  way,  chief  —  a  newspaper 
epic.  You  should  read  it." 

Leslie  ignored  the  morose  mood  of  the  reporter. 
"  Shot  nothing,"  he  said  in  disgust.  "  Take  a  Tur- 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY  95 

kish  bath  and  sweat  that  grouch  out  of  your  system. 
Here,  take  this  ten.  I  want  you  to  get  back  to  your 
paper.  You're  too  valuable  a  man  to  be  out  of 
work  in  this  town." 

Lanagan  rejected  the  proffered  money,  and  Leslie 
was  attempting  to  force  it  on  him  —  there  was  a 
warm  bond  of  friendship  between  the  two  men  and 
a  mutual  admiration  for  the  abilities  of  each  other 
—  when  Brady  from  the  upper  office  stuck  his  head 
through  the  door.  He  saluted. 

"  Captain  Cook  sent  me  over  to  say  that  it  looks 
now  like  that  Hemingway  case  was  not  a  suicide 
after  all.  There  are  no  powder  burns  on  the  face. 
The  revolver  must  have  been  put  in  her  hand  after 
she  was  shot." 

Cook  was  night  captain  of  detectives.  Leslie 
jumped  to  his  feet  and  swung  Lanagan  to  his. 

"  Here !  This  will  put  you  on  your  mettle.  I 
didn't  like  the  looks  of  that  case  from  the  start. 
I  am  going  out  and  take  hold  of  it  personally. 
Come  along.  Maybe  you  can  turn  up  something 
that  the  Enquirer  will  be  glad  to  hear  from  you  on. 
Come  along,  Brady." 

They  jumped  into  the  police  machine  and  were 
whirled  out  to  a  fashionable  home  on  Pacific  Ave 
nue.  It  was  9:30  o'clock.  Less  than  an  hour  be 
fore  a  report  had  been  received  of  the  suicide  of 
the  daughter  of  the  house,  a  debutante  whose  com 
ing-out  party  had  been  an  event  of  the  spring  be- 


g6  LANAGAN 

fore  and  whose  engagement  to  a  broker,  Oliver 
Macondray,  had  just  been  announced. 

Wilson,  accounted  one  of  Leslie's  shrewdest 
upper  office  men,  was  already  in  the  room  when 
Leslie,  Lanagan,  and  Brady  arrived.  There  were 
there  also  a  shoal  of  newspaper  men  and  photo 
graphers,  and  the  smell  of  flash  powders  was  heavy 
on  the  air.  On  the  first  report  from  police  head 
quarters  I  had  been  sent  out  by  Sampson  and  had  al 
ready  been  in  the  house  for  half  an  hour.  But  I 
was  glad  to  surrender  the  story  promptly  to  Lana 
gan  when  he  entered,  although  he  did  not  then  say 
that  he  intended  going  to  work. 

It  was  Wilson,  as  I  recall  it,  who  had  raised  a 
doubt  of  the  suicide  theory  by  pointing  out  the  ab 
sence  of  powder  burns,  although  the  bullet  wound 
was  in  the  right  temple  and  the  revolver  clasped 
tightly  in  the  right  hand.  A  girl  with  her  frail 
wrist  must  have  pressed  the  revolver  close  before 
firing.  It  was  clear  the  revolver  had  been  placed 
in  her  hand  after  the  shooting.  It  was  an  English 
bulldog  of  old  pattern,  one  of  those  "  family " 
pistols  found  in  most  homes. 

"If  you  can't  be  first  on  the  ground,  be  last," 
was  an  axiom  of  the  newspaper  business  that  Lana 
gan  often  tried  to  impress  upon  me.  He  proceeded 
to  act  upon  his  theory  now  by  rolling  and  lighting 
a  cigarette  to  give  all  in  the  room  ample  time  to 
finish  their  investigation.  Pinally  the  room  was 


_ 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY  97 

cleared  of  all  save,  Leslie,  Lanagan,  Brady,  Wilson, 
and  myself. 

The  room  had  one  set  of  French  windows  giving 
out  upon  a  wide  porch  and  a  heavily  matted  lawn. 
It  would  be  next  to  impossible  to  say  whether  a  per 
son  had  escaped  over  the  lawn  by  way  of  the  ver 
anda.  The  bedroom  door  was  open  when  a  maid, 
attracted  by  the  shot,  had  overcome  her  terror  and 
run  to  the  room. 

At  the  time  of  death  the  only  persons  in  the 
house  were  the  mother,  daughter,  and  the  maid, 
Marie.  The  maid  was  in  a  state  bordering  on 
collapse  after  the  first  siege  with  the  detectives  and 
newspaper  men,  and  Leslie  ordered  her  kept  quiet 
for  an  hour.  The  occasional  hysterical  cries  of  the 
mother,  prostrated  in  her  own  room,  could  be  heard. 

Leslie  examined  the  body  with  minute  care.  The 
rest  of  us  had  completed  our  investigations.  Then 
Lanagan  took  his  leisurely  turn,  drawing  up  an 
easy  chair.  Leslie,  Brady,  and  Wilson  had  stepped 
through  the  window  and  were  examining  the  porch 
and  the  lawn  carefully  with  their  pocket  lights. 
Lanagan  had  taken  one  of  the  girl's  hands  up  in 
his.  He  was  examining  an  old-fashioned  bracelet 
critically,  very  critically,  it  seemed  to  me.  He 
flashed  a  sudden  quick  glance  toward- the  window; 
the  chief  and  the  detectives  were  still  busy  outside. 

"  Stand  at  the  door,  Norrie ! "  he  shot  at  me 
electrically. 


98  LANAGAN 

I  sprang  to  put  my  back  to  it,  to  give  him  a  mo 
ment's  delay  in  case  any  of  the  other  newspaper 
men  should  drift  back  to  the  room.  I  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  what  he  was  after,  but  I  caught  a 
glitter  of  fierce  interest  in  his  eyes,  and  I  knew  him 
better  than  to  disobey.  I  did  not  see  what  he  did 
then,  save  that  he  quickly  placed  something  within 
his  pocketbook,  something  that  didn't  have  much 
substance,  for  he  had  to  rub  his  thumb  and  fore 
finger  to  drop  it  into  a  piece  of  paper.  Some  of 
the  newspaper  men  trooped  back  into  the  room; 
Leslie  entered  again,  frowning  in  perplexity. 

"  Singular,  Jack,"  he  said.  "  What's  your 
idea?" 

"  I  think,"  drawled  Lanagan,  "  I'll  save  my  ideas 
for  the  Enquirer,  Chief.  I've  concluded  to  go  back 
to  work." 

Leslie  stared.  "  You've  got  something,"  he 
finally  said  testily.  "  What  is  it?  " 

"  Something  that  may  save  me  being  driven  from 
town  like  a  beaten  dog,  Chief,  that's  all.  You 
didn't  want  that,  you  said." 

"  Confound  you  anyhow.  You're  too  infernally 
clever.  Go  in  and  win,"  said  the  grizzled  chief, 
but  his  tone  was  nettled  and  there  was  a  natural 
trace,  possibly,  of  professional  jealousy  that  he 
could  not  conceal.  It  had  never  before  happened 
that  he  and  Lanagan  had  started  off  on  an  absolutely 
even  break  where  it  was  a  straight  open-and-shut 
proposition  of  the  best  detective  winning;  and  he 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY  99 

felt  that  Lanagan  had  found  a  clue  in  that  room 
that  he  had  overlooked.  He  was  a  hard  loser.  He 
went  over  the  room  again;  he  examined  the  body; 
he  used  his  magnifying  glass  and  he  scanned  the 
walls,  the  carpet,  the  clothing,  inch  by  inch. 

He  was  still  reluctant  to  give  up  when  the  cor 
oner's  deputies  finally  arrived  to  discharge  their 
melancholy  functions.  The  mother  was  still  in 
hysteria.  The  maid  had  calmed  somewhat,  and 
Leslie  went  to  examine  her  with  Wilson  and  Brady. 
Lanagan  had  drifted  out  and  was  sitting  on  the 
moonlit  porch,  to  which  the  electroliers  gave  ad 
ded  brightness. 

"  When  all  those  blunderbusses  get  through  with 
their  heavy  work,  Norrie,  we'll  have  a  run  in  with 
the  maid,"  said  he.  "  I  seem  to  be  the  last  man  on 
the  job.  Meantime  find  out  for  me  how  many  red- 
haired  people  there  are  about  this  house  or  among 
the  immediate  circle  of  the  girl's  friends.  It  is  a 
matter  of  some  importance,  because — "  he  care 
fully  opened  the  pocketbook,  extracted  the  folded 
piece  of  note  paper,  and,  first  assuring  himself  that 
no  one  was  about,  pointed  —  "  because  here  are  two 
broken,  half-inch  bits  of  red  hair  that  I  take  it  are 
going  to  play  an  important  part  in  this  case.  Re 
member  the  Deveraux  case?  These  were  wedged 
back  of  the  cameo  on  her  bracelet,  and  they 
got  there  in  her  last  struggle  with  whoever  shot  her. 
For  the  time  being  at  least,  then,  we  will  eliminate 
all  but  red-haired  people." 


ioo  LANAGAN 

"  Maybe  it's  a  dog's  hair,"  I  suggested  hopefully. 

Lanagan  was  on  the  point  of  retorting  with  his 
finished  sarcasm  when  the  Hemingway  limousine, 
evidently  bringing  other  members  of  the  family  or 
relations  summoned  by  word  of  the  mournful  oc 
currence,  rolled  up  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  porte- 
cochere.  Lanagan's  eye  had  travelled  swiftly  and 
fixed  upon  some  object  of  interest.  I  followed  his 
intense  gaze. 

The  chauffeur's  hair  was  as  flaming  as  a  fire 
brand. 

Lanagan's  eyes  seemed  to  be  boring  straight 
through  the  man  as  the  machine  came  to  a  stop 
almost  where  we  sat.  The  chauffeur's  face  was 
pale,  extraordinarily  pale,  it  appeared  to  me;  as  he 
stopped  his  machine  and  shut  down  the  gears,  there 
was  a  perceptible  evidence  of  nervousness  in  his 
manner  that  was  possibly  entirely  natural  in  view 
of  the  shocking  happening  of  a  few  hours  before 
that  had  taken  the  life  of  his  young  mistress. 

The  first  to  leave  the  motor  was  a  trim,  well- 
groomed  young  man,  whom  we  at  once  recognised, 
from  the  descriptions  we  had  heard,  as  Macondray. 
As  he  held  the  door  open  for  the  other  two  persons 
to  leave  the  machine,  he  removed  his  hat,  holding 
it  in  his  hand. 

Simultaneously  our  eyes  rested  on  his  uncovered 
hair. 

His  hair,  if  anything,  was  a  shade  more  auburn 
than  that  of  the  chauffeur!  His  swollen  eyes  and 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         101 

pale  face  were  natural  under  the  circumstances, 
with  his  marriage  hopes  thus  painfully  blasted. 
They  walked  within,  and  Lanagan  said: 

"  Come  on.  We'll  get  first  crack  at  this  fellow 
anyhow.  Let's  meet  him  back  at  the  garage  in 
the  rear." 

We  had  started  to  walk  back  to  the  garage  as  the 
chauffeur  cranked  his  machine  when  from  the  same 
low  window  Leslie  and  Brady  stepped  alertly. 
Leslie  held  up  his  hand  to  the  chauffeur.  The  two 
officers  were  beside  him  in  a  moment.  I  knew 
what  was  coming  even  before  they  laid  a  hand  on 
him.  I  had  seen  too  many  arrests  made  not  to 
know  what  was  meant  by  that  brusque,  cool  manner, 
that  quick  step,  that  wary  eye  even  before  there 
came  that  familiar  terse,  short  snap  of  the  profes 
sional  thief-taker: 

"  We  want  you!  " 

"  The  maid  has  spilled!  "  was  Lanagan's  ejacula 
tion  as  we  stepped  up  to  the  trio.  Leslie  could  not 
forbear  a  pleased  lighting  of  the  eyes  as  he  glanced 
at  Lanagan. 

"What  have  you  got,  Chief?"  asked  Lanagan 
easily. 

"  The  maid,  Marie,  broke  down  and  admitted 
that  she  let  this  man  Martin  into  the  house  and  into 
the  girl's  room  at  the  girl's  orders  at  8.30  o'clock. 
Possibly  ten  minutes  later,  she  says,  she  heard  the 
shot.  When  she  could  summon  courage  to  go  to 
her  mistress's  room  she  found  her  lying  on  the  floor 


102  LANAGAN 

dead,  the  revolver  in  her  hand.  What  have  you 
to  say,  Martin  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  said  Martin  levelly.  "  I  have 
nothing  at  all  to  say,  sir." 

He  was  a  man  of  about  thirty.  Lanagan's  sub 
sequent  investigations  disclosed  that  he  had  been 
with  the  Hemingways  for  many  years,  formerly 
working  as  a  stable  boy.  When  automobiles  came 
into  vogue,  he  had  taken  a  place  as  chauffeur.  He 
was  a  probation  court  boy  when  the  Hemingways 
took  him  into  their  employ  and  "  made  a  man  of 
him,"  as  he  used  to  express  it. 

"Nothing?"  snapped  Leslie.  "Well,  we'll  see. 
I  guess  we'll  take  him  in,  Brady,  and  give  him  the 
dark  cell." 

Leslie  swung  on  his  heel,  and  Brady,  giving  the 
chauffeur  only  time  enough  to  run  his  machine  to 
the  garage,  took  him  to  the  city  prison  and  locked 
him  up.  But  first  I  had  noticed  Lanagan  pick  up 
Martin's  cap  from  the  seat  of  the  machine  while 
the  brief  conference  was  going  on  and  deftly  extract 
something  from  it.  The  "  something "  proved 
later  to  be  one  or  two  of  Martin's  red  hairs. 

Other  newspaper  men  emerging  from  the  house 
had  been  informed  by  Leslie  of  the  arrest.  It  was 
11.30  o'clock  by  that  time,  and,  with  the  arrest  of 
Martin  as  their  sensation,  the  morning  paper  men 
of  one  accord  shoaled  back  to  their  offices.  Leslie 
turned  whatever  ends  might  come  up  over  to  Wil 
son,  with  instructions  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  maid, 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         103 

Marie,  and  went  back  to  headquarters  satisfied  that 
if  Martin  was  not  the  murderer  he  at  least  could 
clear  up  the  mystery.  Lanagan  started  back  with 
the  rest,  but  dropped  off  the  car  unobserved  and 
returned  to  the  house.  He  was  not  yet  satisfied 
that  all  that  the  inmates  knew  there  had  been  told. 

"  You  go  in  and  write  the  story,"  he  had  told 
me.  "  That  chauffeur  isn't  the  type  who  is  ren 
dezvousing  with  the  daughter  of  the  house ;  and  she 
isn't  the  type  to  engage  in  an  alliance  with  a  chauf 
feur.  There  is  a  nigger  in  this  woodpile  some 
place  —  and  a  red-headed  nigger  at  that.  Go  off 
with  your  story  if  you  don't  hear  from  me  by  press 
time,  but  keep  my  red  hairs  out  of  your  story  unless 
you  hear  from  me  further." 

I  had  gathered  in  my  camera  man  and  artist  and 
hurried  back  to  the  office  to  write  a  story  that  I 
knew  would  be  exactly  similar  in  its  facts  with  those 
in  the  other  morning  papers,  leading  off  naturally 
with  the  arrest  of  the  chauffeur. 

There  were  still  quite  a  number  of  relatives  and 
family  friends  at  the  house  when  Lanagan  returned. 
The  reception  hall  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  he 
hung  up  his  hat.  As  he  did  so  he  examined  Mac- 
ondray's  topcoat  carefully  and  quickly.  On  the  col 
lar  was  one  hair.  It  was  tucked  away,  labeled,  in 
a  separate  package  in  the  pocketbook. 

He  went  to  the  room  of  the  murder  to  find  Wil 
son  there  "  sweating "  Macondray.  The  broker 
was  bent  over  a  table,  sobbing.  The  intermittent, 


io4  LANAGAN 

hysterical  cries  of  the  mother,  hoarser  and  fainter 
as  exhaustion  came  upon  her,  still  punctuated  the 
air.  Wilson  was  reading  a  letter.  He  passed  it  to 
Lanagan. 

Lanagan  read,  then,  a  startling  few  lines  writ 
ten  by  Miss  Hemingway  the  day  before  to  Mac- 
ondray,  breaking  their  engagement  with  the  single 
explanation :  /  love  another.  You  surely  could  not 
want  to  marry  a  woman  who  had  discovered  she 
loved  another. 

Lanagan  passed  the  letter  back.  He  was  anxious 
to  make  a  microscopic  examination  of  the  hair,  but 
he  wanted  also  to  put  Macondray  through  a  mill. 
He  signalled  Wilson  to  "  jam,"  and  the  detective 
touched  Macondray  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Get  together,"  he  said  brusquely.  "  We  want 
you  to  answer  a  few  questions." 

"  We  aren't  getting  any  place  in  this  fashion," 
added  Lanagan  curtly. 

"  Tell  me,  Macondray,  when  did  you  get  that  let 
ter?" 

Macondray  straightened  up,  wiping  his  eyes. 

"  This  afternoon  at  5  o'clock,"  he  said. 

"  When  did  you  see  Miss  Hemingway  last?  " 

There  was  a  long  pause  while  Macondray  gazed 
fixedly  first  at  Lanagan  and  then  at  Wilson,  as 
though  trying  to  read  their  minds  to  learn  what 
they  knew. 

"  Because  you  did  see  her  after  the  letter,  you 
know,"  said  Lanagan  quietly.  It  was  entirely  a 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY          105 

random  shot,  but  it  went  home.  Macondray 
studied  the  matter  over  again  for  some  moments. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last  slowly,  "  I  suppose  it  is 
best  that  I  tell  all  I  know.  I  saw  her  last  —  at  half- 
past  eight  o'clock  to-night." 

His  head  dropped  to  his  breast  and  dry  sobs 
shook  him  again  for  a  minute. 

"  But  as  to  her  death  I  can  offer  no  explanation. 
Only  —  you  have  Martin  in  custody,  and  I  saw 
Martin  in  her  room  at  that  time.  My  God!"  he 
burst  out,  "  that  Elvira  could  have  sunk  so  low ! 
A  menial,  a  lackey  —  a  chauffeur!  " 

"  We  don't  want  a  dissertation  on  caste,"  said 
Lanagan  with  cold  brutality.  "  What  we  want  of 
you,  Macondray,  either  here  or  at  the  city  prison 
—  "  Macondray  started,  realising  for  the  first  time 
that  suspicion  was  pointing  his  way  —  "  is  a  simple 
statement  of  how  you  happened  to  see  Miss  Hem 
ingway  in  this  room  with  Martin  and  what  hap 
pened  after  that?  " 

"  I  received  her  note  by  messenger  at  five  o'clock. 
At  half-past  seven  I  called,  but  she  was  not  in.  I 
wanted  a  personal  explanation.  I  called  again  in 
an  hour.  She  was  home,  Marie  said,  and  had  gone 
to  her  room  for  the  night  and  under  no  circum 
stances  was  to  be  disturbed.  I  determined  to  see 
her  at  any  cost.  I  knew  the  position  of  her  room 
here,  fronting  on  the  veranda.  I  went  from  the 
house  by  the  front  door  and  walked  around  here  to 
the  lawn.  I  intended  only  to  attract  her  attention 


io6  LANAGAN 

by  throwing  a  pebble  against  the  window  and  com 
pelling  her  to  speak  with  me.  But  while  I  stood 
there  on  the  lawn,  searching  for  a  pebble,  an  auto 
mobile  drove  slowly  down  Buchanan  Street  and 
stopped  just  beyond  the  Hemingway  drive,  behind 
the  pepper  tree.  There  were  two  men  in  it.  One 
remained  while  the  other,  whom  I  recognised  as 
Martin,  came  to  the  house,  entering  by  the  kitchen 
door.  Of  course,  then  I  would  not  risk  attracting 
Elvira's  attention. 

"  While  I  was  just  turning  to  go,  Elvira's  cur 
tain  suddenly  was  raised,  and  I  saw  her  peering  out 
down  Buchanan  Street  toward  the  place  where  the 
motor  car  was.  Just  when  that  tableau  was  being 
presented  her  chamber  door  opened  quickly,  and 
Martin  entered.  She  seemed  to  be  glad  to  see  him, 
and  extended  both  her  hands  to  him. 

"  I  could  witness  no  more.  It  broke  my  heart. 
Sick  and  miserable  that  I  had  discovered  so  fine 
a  girl,  the  girl  whom  I  loved  sincerely,  in  a  meet 
ing  with  her  chauffeur,  I  turned  and  came  away. 
That  is  all  I  know.  Later  I  received  a  telephone 
message  of  the  tragedy.  They  sent  the  car  for 
me.  I  could  not  understand  it  then;  I  cannot 
now." 

He  was  sobbing  again  with  his  arms  on  the  table. 

Wilson  stepped  over  to  him. 

"  Brace  up,"  he  said  shortly,  "  I  want  you  to 
come  with  me.  The  chief  will  want  to  keep  you 
where  he  can  see  you  for  a  day  or  two."  His 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         107 

heavy  hand  descended  professionally  upon  Macon- 
dray's  shoulder.  But  Lanagan  interrupted. 

"  Not  a  chance,  Jim,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 
"  I  don't  want  to  interfere  with  your  duty,  but  I 
believe  that  chap  is  telling  the  truth  absolutely. 
What  we  want  to  do  now  is  to  clear  up  the  mystery 
of  the  man  in  the  automobile.  Martin  must  be 
made  to  talk.  And,  by  the  way,  have  you  come 
across  any  red-haired  people  in  this  case  outside 
Martin  and  Macondray?  It  struck  me  as  a  good 
little  feature  story.  Here's  a  red-haired  chauffeur 
and  a  red-haired  fiancee.  It's  a  combination  that 
don't  often  occur." 

"  Humph,"  replied  Wilson.  "  That's  curious. 
The  chief  and  I  only  saw  Mrs.  Hemingway  for  a 
moment,  she  was  so  unstrung,  but  she  most  cer 
tainly  has  the  finest  head  of  red  hair  for  a  woman 
of  forty- four  or  five  you  want  to  see.  Seems  to 
be  her  own,  too.  Funny  proposition,  the  three  of 
them  at  that." 

Lanagan  was  staring,  for  once  taken  completely 
by  surprise,  so  pat  did  the  circumstance  fit  his  theo 
ries.  He  glanced  at  his  watch.  His  eyes  were  danc 
ing  with  excitement.  "  That  will  be  all,  Mr.  Ma 
condray,  unless  Wilson  wants  you  for  anything," 
he  said.  Wilson  said  he  was  through,  and  Macon 
dray  left  the  room.  "  Now,  Jim,  let's  see  Marie 
again.  I'm  collecting  red  hair;  it's  a  fad  I  have 
acquired,  and  I  want  one  or  two  of  Mrs.  Heming 
way's." 


io8  LANAGAN 

"  I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life,"  said  Wil 
son,  summoning  the  maid.  He  sent  her  for  a  brush 
containing  combings  of  her  mistress's  hair.  She 
asked  no  questions,  but  did  as  ordered.  The  maid 
acted  like  a  person  in  a  trance. 

"  Holding  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  then  she  will 
drop  like  a  plummet,"  thought  Lanagan,  then  aloud : 
"  I  guess  we  are  all  through  here,  Jim,  except  one 
last  fling  with  the  mother." 

But  there  was  no  "  last  fling  "  with  the  mother. 
She  had  been  given  a  hypodermic,  the  nurse  said, 
and  was  sleeping. 

From  a  neighbourhood  bar  Wilson  telephoned  to 
Leslie,  still  waiting  at  police  headquarters  to  get 
a  last  word  from  his  men.  The  detective  was  still 
half  decided  to  lock  up  both  Marie  and  Macondray, 
but  Leslie  said  no.  Lanagan  had  borrowed  Wil 
son's  magnifying  glass  and  had  spread  out  upon  the 
bar  the  different  pieces  of  red  hair.  He  was  so 
deeply  engrossed  in  making  comparisons  that  he 
failed  to  follow  the  startling  one-sided  conversa 
tion  going  on  between  Wilson  and  the  chief.  Wil 
son  whirled  around  from  the  receiver  as  Lanagan, 
profoundly  stirred,  carefully  tucked  away  his  col 
lection. 

"  A  child  could  see  it,"  he  muttered  to  himself  as 
Wilson  called  out: 

"  Martin  has  spilled !  Says  he  tricked  the  maid, 
who,  by  the  way,  is  in  love  with  him,  into  letting 
him  into  Elvira's  room.  There  he  declared  his  love 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         109 

for  her,  demanded  that  she  fly  with  him,  and  when 
she  refused  seized  up  the  family  revolver  and  shot 
her  down,  maddened  by  her  command  that  he 
realise  his  place  and  return  to  the  stables  where  he 
belonged.  He  escaped  through  the  window  after 
placing  the  revolver  in  her  hand.  They  are  going 
to  book  him  now  for  murder." 

Lanagan  took  a  long  time  to  digest  this  bit  of 
surprising  information.  He  made  no  comment 
other  than  to  say: 

"  You're  through  for  the  night  now,  aren't  you, 
Jim?  With  Leslie  vouching  for  Martin  as  the 
man?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jim,  "  and  now  I'm  off." 

A  moment  after  he  had  been  left  alone  Lanagan 
had  Leslie  on  the  telephone. 

"Chief?  Lanagan.  Hop  into  your  car  and 
meet  me  at  Farrelly's.  Bring  Martin  along.  It's 
quarter  to  one.  Make  time.  And  this  is  some 
thing  absolutely  between  you  and  me;  me  and  the 
Enquirer.  Scoot  now,  Chief.  I've  something  to 
interest  you." 

Since  the  incident  in  the  room  earlier  in  the  even 
ing  Leslie  had  been  restless  about  Lanagan.  With 
in  ten  minutes  the  police  automobile  stopped  at 
Farrelly's.  Leslie  and  Brady,  with  Martin  walking 
between  them,  entered. 

Lanagan  quickly  led  the  way  to  the  side  room. 

One  grimed  incandescent  lit  the  room  pallidly. 
Around  a  beer-stained  table  the  four  men  sat,  Mar- 


no  LANAGAN 

tin  farthest  from  the  door.  Lanagan's  eyes  were 
fairly  snapping  as  he  opened  his  pocketbook  and 
spread  it  out  upon  the  table.  From  it  he  extracted 
his  little  papers,  each  containing  a  piece  or  two  of 
red  hair.  He  laid  each  separate  hair  slowly,  deliber 
ately,  before  them  all  upon  the  table.  Martin  was 
watching  the  performance  with  eyes  that  glistened  in 
the  intensity  of  his  interest.  Equally  absorbed  were 
Leslie  and  Brady.  Deliberately,  precisely,  Lana- 
gan  laid  out  the  hairs  —  two  from  the  brush  of 
Mrs.  Hemingway,  one  from  the  coat  collar  of  Ma- 
condray,  two  from  Martin's  cap,  and  the  two  short 
bits  from  the  bracelet  of  Elvira. 

Leslie  had  understood  the  pantomime  the  mo 
ment  Lanagan  opened  his  pocket-book  and  disclosed 
the  collection  of  hair.  He  knew  what  it  was  now 
that  he  had  overlooked;  and,  chagrined  but  alert, 
he  watched  each  move  that  Lanagan  made,  for  the 
solution  had  not  yet  come.  Was  it  to  be  Martin? 
Leslie  hoped  professionally,  for  the  sake  of  his 
reputation,  that  it  would  be. 

"  Martin,"  said  Lanagan,  flashing  the  word  out 
like  a  dirk  might  flash  in  the  sun,  "  what  did  Mrs. 
Hemingway  ever  do  to  earn  your  loyalty  —  even  to 
death?" 

Martin  paled,  visibly,  even  beneath  the  sick  light 
of  the  weak  incandescent. 

"  She  has  been  very  good  to  me,  sir.  She  took 
me  out  of  the  court's  custody  and  gave  me  a  good 
home  and  a  good  salary.  She  made  a  man  of  me 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         in 

when  I  might  have  become  a  jailbird.  She  has  been 
a  good  mistress,  sir." 

"  Yes,  a  good  mistress,"  came  through  Lanagan's 
teeth.  "  You're  loyal.  The  type  of  loyal  retainer. 
You're  not  the  type  that  falls  in  love  with  the 
daughter  of  the  house.  You  never  loved  Elvira; 
you  never  murdered  Elvira ;  and  you  are  concealing 
now  the  name  of  the  murderer,  telling  a  poor  weak 
lie  that  could  not  have  stood  at  the  outside  for 
twenty- four  hours !  Who  killed  Elvira?  " 

Lanagan  had  arisen  and  glowered  above  the 
ashen  Martin.  Leslie  was  leaning  forward,  his 
eyes,  gimletlike,  boring  into  Martin's.  Brady 
swung  around,  too,  to  face  him,  caught  as  well  un 
der  the  spell  of  fierce  magnetism  of  the  newspaper 
man. 

"  Tell  me,"  Lanagan  snarled,  "  who  was  in  that 
automobile  with  you  last  night  f" 

Martin's  heavy  lips  dropped  apart  while  he  con 
tinued  to  stare  affrightedly  upon  the  newspaper  man. 

"  The  mother  of  that  girl  found  you  in  Elvira's 
room  with  her,  making  preparations  for  night  with 
whoever  was  in  that  machine! 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  continued  Lanagan,  hammering 
each  word  home ;  "  I  will  tell  you  who  killed  Elvira 
Hemingway!  "  He  leaned  swiftly  across  the  table, 
bending  down  and  breathing  a  word  into  the  ear 
of  Martin.  The  effect  was  electrical. 

"  No !  No !  No  —  no  —  no !  It  was  I,  I  tell  you ; 
I  and  no  other !  I  shot  her  in  my  fit  of  madness !  " 


H2  LANAGAN 

He  collapsed  suddenly,  his  head  sinking1  on  his 
breast,  still  gasping  huskily  forth  his  protestations. 

"  Look  here,  then,"  said  Lanagan.  He  held 
Brady's  magnifying  glass  over  the  hair  —  over  the 
two  hairs  from  the  bracelet  and  then  over  the  other 
specimens.  The  difference  in  the  texture  of  the 
hair  and  a  difference  in  colour  were  apparent  under 
the  microscope  even  in  the  ill-lighted  room.  That 
one  of  the  three  specimens  was  similar  hair  to  that 
from  the  bracelet  was  apparent  almost  to  the  naked 
eye.  Leslie's  face  grew  grave.  Brady  had  ab 
solute  unbelief  written  in  his  eyes.  Martin  took 
one  peering  look  furtively. 

"  That  hair,"  said  Lanagan,  indicating,  "  came 
from  Elvira  Hemingway's  bracelet.  It  lodged 
there  in  her  last  struggle  with  whoever  killed  her. 
This  is  your  hair,  Martin;  compare  it.  This  is 
Macondray's;  compare  it.  This  is  from  the 
mother's  head;  compare  it.  A  red-haired  person 
killed  Elvira.  It  was  not  you  —  it  was  not  — " 

But  Martin  had  sunk  his  head  into  his  arms  on 
the  table  \vith  a  groan.  Lanagan  waited;  Leslie 
waited ;  Brady  waited  —  experts  all  at  the  third  de 
gree.  Mind  was  mauling  matter  —  and  mind  was 
winning. 

"  It  was  not  you,"  continued  Lanagan  pitilessly 
as  Martin  lifted  his  haggard  face  with  the  look  of 
pleading  of  an  animal  in  his  eyes.  "  It  was  not 
you—" 

"But  it  was  not  she  —  not  my  mistress!    It  was 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         113 

me!  Me!"  The  last  words  were  a  shriek;  but 
the  tax  on  his  self-control  had  been  too  great.  He 
fainted. 

They  threw  water  on  Martin  then  and  forced 
whiskey  down  his  throat.  He  came  to,  staring  in 
confusion  from  one  face  to  the  other. 

"  You  have  admitted  the  mother  shot  her  own 
child,"  said  Lanagan  rapidly,  giving  Martin  no  op 
portunity  to  recover  his  composure.  "  Now  tell  us 
the  circumstances  of  this  unnatural  crime." 

Martin's  breakdown  was  complete. 

Elvira  Hemingway,  practically  forced  into  an 
engagement  with  Macondray  largely  through 
propinquity  —  he  was  her  brother's  partner  and  a 
regular  family  guest  —  and  through  the  wishes  of 
her  mother,  inordinately  ambitious  socially  to  ally 
her  daughter  with  the  Macondrays,  had  finally  jilted 
Macondray  for  a  struggling  young  doctor,  Stanton, 
a  classmate  at  college.  They  were  to  have  eloped, 
so  greatly  did  the  girl  dread  the  scene  that  she  knew 
would  follow  when  her  mother  learned  of  her  dis 
missal  of  Macondray.  Martin,  loyal,  as  he  had 
said,  to  his  mistress,  but  still  more  so  to  the  daugh 
ter  of  the  house,  was  party  to  the  elopement.  He 
had  come  to  her  room  by  prearrangement  to  help 
her  out  with  a  grip  or  two  in  order  that  no  sus 
picion  would  attach  should  she  be  discovered  in  the 
room,  on  the  porch,  or  crossing  the  lawn.  The  ma 
chine  —  the  same  that  Macondray  saw  —  was  wait 
ing  at  the  pepper  tree.  But  while  Martin  was  in 


ii4  LANAGAN 

the  room  the  mother,  on  some  slight  errand,  had  un 
expectedly  gone  to  her  daughter's  room. 

There  she  found  her  daughter  fully  attired,  the 
French  window  wide  open,  and  caught  a  flashing 
glimpse  of  a  figure  disappearing  through  the  French 
window,  that  she  recognised  as  Martin.  At  first 
flush  she  accepted  the  incident  as  an  interrupted 
rendezvous  of  some  sort  between  her  daughter  and 
her  chauffeur,  and  one  hot  word  of  charge  had 
brought  a  swift  retort  from  the  daughter,  and  a 
quarrel  had  arisen. 

Martin,  sneaking  back  to  report  progress  in  the 
room  to  Stanton,  heard  the  rising  voices  in  anger, 
and  learned  enough  to  know  that  the  girl,  under 
stress  of  her  excitement,  had  revealed  the  plan  for 
the  elopement.  He  counselled  with  Stanton,  and 
both  agreed  that  Stanton  had  best  retire  and  await 
developments,  Martin  to  keep  Stanton  posted  by 
telephone.  In  the  grief  and  excitement  of  the  final 
tragedy  he  did  not  do  so,  and  the  lover,  worn  by 
a  sleepless  night,  received  his  great  blow  when  ha 
opened  his  morning  paper.  But  this  is  not  a  tale 
of  love  or  lovers,  except  insofar  as  they  concern 
the  solution  of  a  crime,  and  Stanton  therefore,  with 
his  blighted  life,  passes  out  of  the  story. 

Martin,  determined  to  intercede  in  hope  of  soften 
ing  the  lot  of  the  daughter,  taking  all  blame  to  him 
self  as  the  messenger  of  the  secret  lovers,  hurried 
then,  back  to  the  house. 

Some  primal  strain  of  vulgarity,  some  poignant 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         115 

pang  of  disappointed  motherly  ambitions,  or  pos 
sibly  some  pang  of  personal  ambitions  thwarted, 
led  to  the  utterance  of  one  malediction  sharper  than 
all  the  others  by  the  mother.  In  a  moment  of  sud 
den  hysteria  the  old-fashioned  revolver  that  had 
been  on  her  mantelpiece  for  years  had  been  seized 
by  the  daughter  in  a  wild  threat  of  suicide. 

The  mother  seized  her  wrist.  A  violent  physical 
struggle  for  the  weapon  followed.  This  was  oc 
curring  just  as  Martin  was  making  his  way  back 
through  the  house  to  the  room,  taking  along  with 
him  the  maid,  Marie,  huddled,  frightened,  against 
the  hall  wall  at  sound  of  the  unseemly  family  quar 
rel. 

There  was  a  flash  and  a  report  in  his  very  eyes 
as  Martin  opened  the  door.  The  revolver,  he  said, 
was  unmistakably  in  the  mother's  hands;  but 
whether  the  discharge  was  accidental  or  intentional 
in  heat  of  passion,  Martin  could  not  say. 

And  that  angle  of  the  story  never  was  cleared  up. 

The  mother  had  swooned.  When  it  was  cleat 
to  the  frightened  servants  that  the  girl  was  dead, 
they  had  carried  the  mother  to  her  room. 

The  plan  of  the  two  was  quickly  formed.  In 
their  clumsy  way  they  concluded  it  would  be 
best  for  all  concerned  if  the  revolver  should  be 
placed  in  the  girl's  hand  to  indicate  suicide.  Mar 
tin  placed  it  there,  while  Marie  laboured  with 
the  hysterical  mother,  trying  to  instil  in  her  mind, 
in  which  the  entire  terrible  scene  was  a  whirl, 


n6  LANAGAN 

the  idea  that  Elvira  had,  in  fact,  committed  sui 
cide. 

As  for  the  confession: 

"  I  feel  I  was  to  blame  in  a  way,  sir,"  concluded 
Martin,  wiping  his  eyes.  "  After  all  I  would  have 
been  a  jailbird  anyway  if  she  hadn't  saved  me,  most 
like.  I  thought  I  could  protect  her,  too,  sir,  by  con 
fessing.  I  supposed  if  I  said  I  committed  the  mur 
der  that  would  settle  it." 

Lanagan  glanced  at  his  watch.  It  was  half -past 
one. 

"  There's  one  more  move  yet,  Chief,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  go  to  press  in  thirty  minutes." 

In  a  moment  or  two  they  had  all  reached  the 
Hemingway  home  again,  surprised  to  find  it  bril 
liantly  lighted.  Servants  were  running  about 
frantically.  An  excited  voice  was  at  the  telephone 
as  the  quartet  walked  through  the  door.  It  was  the 
butler. 

"  Hurry !  Hurry !  "  he  was  crying.  "  Heming 
way's!  Pacific  Avenue!  For  God's  sake  hurry!" 

"  What  is  it?  "  demanded  Lanagan. 

"Carbolic,  I  think,"  replied  the  butler.  "She 
escaped  from  the  nurse  and  got  to  the  bathroom. 
She  had  been  raving  for  an  hour  entirely  out  of 
her  head  crying  to  Elvira  to  forgive  her  —  that 
she  — "  he  stopped  suddenly,  his  lips  coming  to 
gether  in  a  taut  line.  "  Another  loyal  family  re 
tainer,"  thought  Lanagan  as  he  and  the  chief  ex- 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY         117 

changed  quick  glances.  "  Only  this  one  can  keep 
his  secret  for  all  of  me." 

They  hurried  to  render  first  aid,  but  one  look  con 
vinced  the  reporter  and  the  policeman,  used  to 
deaths  in  violent  form,  that  the  troubled  and  fright 
fully  burdened  mother's  soul  had  gone  to  a  higher 
court  for  judgment. 

Lanagan  raced  back  downstairs  for  the  telephone. 
It  was  five  minutes  to  two.  By  the  accident  of 
being  on  the  ground  he  would  have  at  least  that 
tremendous  exclusive  of  the  mother's  suicide. 

And  that  —  good  story  as  it  was  —  was  all  the 
Enquirer  printed,  for  it  was  all  that  I  finally  got 
from  Lanagan  just  before  the  clock  struck  two. 

Leslie,  standing  by  the  telephone,  said,  tentatively 
and  curiously,  when  the  receiver  was  hung  up: 

"  What  about  the  real  story  ?  Saving  that  for 
to-morrow?  " 

"  No,  Chief,"  drawled  Lanagan,  full  brother  in 
the  Fourth  Estate.  "  No,  Chief,  that's  all  the  story. 
She's  dead,  isn't  she?  They  have  had  about 
enough  trouble,  this  family." 


V 
THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN 


V 

THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN 

THE  manner  of  Lanagan's  acquiring  the  Am 
bassador's  stick-pin  is  nearly,  if  not  quite,  as 
interesting  as  the  matter  of  his  losing  it.  His  pos 
session  of  the  pin  was  simple  enough  when  one  un 
derstands  the  chromatic  ways  of  a  police  reporter's 
daily  routine :  and  Jack  Lanagan  was  the  "  star  " 
police  reporter  of  the  city.  The  surrender  of  the 
pin  is  as  easily  understood,  when  one  comes  to  learn 
something  of  the  devious  paths  the  police  reporter  is 
sometimes  called  on  to  follow,  and  the  curious  and 
startling  situations  into  which  they  sometimes  lead. 

Thus,  when  Lanagan,  drifting  indolently  with 
the  matinee  throngs  down  Powell  street,  stopped 
to  hold  confab  with  "  Kid  "  Monahan,  that  now  re 
tired  King  of  the  pickpockets,  it  was  natural  enough 
that  he  should  remark  on  a  stick-pin  of  odd  design 
that  replaced  the  accustomed  three-carat  in  the 
"  King's  "  silk  cravat.  Gentry  who  lived  by  their 
wits  and  other  people's  wealth,  affect  stones  of  much 
size.  Some  policemen  wear  them,  too. 

It  was  natural  enough,  that  the  "  King,"  proverb 
ially  generous,  noticing  the  glance  of  interest,  should 
say,  "  Here,  wear  it,"  and  with  a  motion  as  quick 

121 


122  LANAGAN 

and  as  deft  as  a  hummingbird's  flit,  transfer  the 
pin  from  his  tie  to  that  of  the  newspaper  man. 

It  was  then  for  Lanagan  to  observe,  dryly: 

"  Your  title  is  certainly  earned,"  as  he  extracted 
the  pin  and  offered  it  back.  "  But  this  being  a  pin 
of  very  unusual  design,  I  am  afraid  I  might  not  be 
able  to  wear  it  as  gracefully  while  awaiting  the  pos 
sible  appearance  of  its  owner,  as  can  you.  Further, 
that  little  exhibition  of  refined  *  touch '  you  just 
gave,  excites  some  grave  suspicions  that  you  are 
back  at  your  old  tricks." 

The  one-time  King  knew  Lanagan's  outspoken 
ways.  Further  he  knew  perfectly  that,  while  the 
police  accepted  his  declaration,  since  his  last  time 
out,  of  fealty  to  the  law,  he  was  a  two-timer.  The 
police  were  using  him,  or  thought  they  were,  as  a 
"  stool ;  "  Lanagan  did  not  think  so. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  what  Lombroso  classified 
as  the  '  criminal  lobe,'  I  might  really  believe  you 
had  reformed,"  Lanagan  had  told  him  once.  "  But 
in  view  of  the  lynx-like  quality  of  your  ears  to  be 
all  top  and  no  bottom,  I  am  afraid  the  stamp  of  an 
extremely  low  moral  resistance  is  indelibly  upon 
you." 

And  Monahan  had  only  grinned  then  as  now,  in1 
his  ingenuous  way,  uncomprehending,  and  exalted 
Lanagan  a  notch  or  two.  For  some  minor  favour 
in  times  gone  past,  Lanagan  had  earned  and  held 
steadfastly  the  King's  unswerving  loyalty;  not  an 
insignificant  asset  fcr  a  police  reporter. 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      123 

"  Jack,"  said  the  King  in  pained  sincerity,  "  I'm 
not  passing  you  no  chance.  Got  it  down  at  Small's. 
Was  shoved  for  a  finner  and  I  took  it  out  of  curi 
osity.  Funny  sticker,  ain't  it?  If  anybody  does 
make  you  though,  why  of  course,  hand  it  over.  I 
like  my  old  spark  better  anyhow." 

Small,  be  it  said,  was  probably  the  thriftiest  and 
crookedest  fence  inside  the  county,  with  the  head 
quarters  men  on  the  pawnbroker  detail  taking  or 
ders  —  and  percentages  —  from  him,  as  faithfully 
as  they  reported  to  their  captain  of  detectives. 
With  another  of  those  flits,  the  King  placed  back  in 
his  own  necktie  his  customary  brilliant,  taken  from 
his  vest  pocket.  Before  Lanagan  could  offer  the 
other  pin  back  the  second  time,  his  companion  had 
left.  Lanagan  examined  the  pin  critically. 

It  was  a  "  funny  sticker,"  round,  of  gold  and 
the  size  and  thickness  of  a  quarter.  The  back  was 
plain,  fitted  with  a  patent  clasp.  On  the  face  was 
a  delicate  relief  of  two  eagles,  heads  out.  An  eye, 
a  ruby  for  an  iris,  was  in  the  exact  centre.  Below 
the  eye  were  two  clasped  hands  and  above,  two 
crossed  swords.  Woven  around  the  entire  design 
was  what  he  at  first  took  to  be  a  snake,  but  dis 
covered,  on  closer  scrutiny,  to  be  a  rope.  It  was 
a  delicate  and  unusual  product  of  the  goldsmith's 
art. 

Lanagan  puzzled  over  it  for  an  hour  and  then 
concluded : 

"Russian,  from  the  eagles;  emblem  of  a  secret 


124  LANAGAN 

order,  evidently,  from  the  eye ;  the  clasped  hands  to 
signify  that  an  oath  has  been  taken  and  the  axe 
or  the  rope  is  the  headsman,  or  the  hangman,  for 
a  breach  of  faith.  That  sounds  plausible.  But 
what  particular  society  does  it  represent?" 

He  placed  it  in  his  tie  and  was  recalling  what  he 
had  read  about  Russian  secret  societies,  when  he 
was  bumped  violently  by  a  short,  swarthy  individual 
who  had,  unknown  to  him,  been  following.  As 
Lanagan  straightened  up  he  caught  a  quick  flash, 
as  of  a  message  of  tacit  understanding,  in  the 
other's  eyes,  as  he  gazed  straight  at  the  pin.  In 
another  moment  a  black  flat  wallet,  thin  and  oblong, 
had  been  slipped  adroitly  into  his  inside  coat  pocket ; 
a  word  which  sounded  like  "  scoraya  "  had  been 
whispered  in  his  ear,  and  the  singular  stranger  had 
departed  to  the  street  to  jump  aboard  a  passing 
car,  and  disappear  toward  the  ferry. 

Lanagan  made  it  a  rule  to  be  surprised  at  nothing, 
to  accept  nothing  as  coincidence  not  proved  so,  and 
to  ignore  no  trifles.  He  was  interested;  highly  in 
terested,  and  he  wanted  to  know  what  "  scoraya  " 
meant.  That  there  was  a  connection  between  the 
pin  and  the  wallet  was,  to  him,  clear.  Possibly 
"  scoraya  "  might  help  him. 

In  Fogarty's  back  room,  hard  by  police  headquar 
ters,  he  found  Petroff,  Russian  interpreter  in  the  po 
lice  courts. 

"  What  does  a  word  that  sounds  like  'scoraya  * 
mean  ?  "  he  asked. 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      125 

"  It  means  '  hurry/  '  at  once/  or  any  such  mean 
ing.  It  is  what  you  Americans  say,  '  get  a  move 
on/  said  Petroff. 

Sitting  apart  Lanagan  unfastened  the  black  seal 
skin  wallet  and  drew  out  a  single  sheet  of  paper, 
encased  in  a  protection  of  oiled  skin.  There  were 
written  on  the  paper  in  a  bold,  strong  hand,  an  even 
dozen  words;  words  that  sent  his  breath  whistling 
through  his  teeth.  It  was  in  English,  plain,  clear, 
and  signed  by  a  name  that  gave  even  the  imperturb 
able  Lanagan  a  mighty  start. 

"  Undoubtedly,"  mused  Lanagan,  "  they  either 
have  a  system  believed  infallible,  or  they  are  mighty 
reckless  of  State  secrets  — and  they  are  not  reck 
less.  Therefore  the  system  has  slipped  a  cog,  and 
I  am  the  anointed  bearer  of  the  message  of  His 
Serene  Majesty,  Nicholas.  I  appear  to  be  on  the 
knees  of  the  gods,"  he  went  on,  as  he  wandered  the 
streets,  perplexed.  "  It's  possible,  barely  possible, 
that  I  am  tangled  in  some  monumental  hoax.  But 
I  don't  believe  it.  If  I  don't  miss  my  guess  I  will 
be  giving  the  austere  Mr.  Sampson,  damned  of  all 
men  of  my  tribe,  the  biggest  exclusive  his  sweat 
shop  paper  has  turned  out  in  this  generation.  But  — 
I  need  more  coincidences.  I  am  plainly  stumped." 

He  had  stopped  by  Lotta's  Fountain  where  the 
traffic  patrolman  was  endeavouring  to  untangle  a 
jam  of  trucks  and  automobiles. 

Out  of  the  very  air,  as  though  in  wierd  solution 
to  his  perplexity,  it  came  again: 


126  LANAGAN 

"Scoraya!" 

Lanagan  wheeled  to  find  the  voice.  He  had 
thought  he  must  turn  directly  upon  the  man.  There 
was  no  one  near  him  save  the  occupant  of  a 
limousine,  two  feet  away.  The  passenger  was  ap 
parently  engrossed  in  the  evening  paper.  The 
window,  though,  was  open.  Lanagan  watched  him 
covertly  from  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"  Humph !  This  is  getting  interesting.  Here  am 
I,  a  live  newspaper  sprout,  in  the  dead  centre  of  a 
bustling  and  work-a-day  American  city,  caught  as 
sure  as  the  sun  shines,  in  the  mysteries  of  a 
diplomatic  maze  between  two  great  nations,  and 
probably  three,  that  is  as  twisted  as  a  mediaeval  in 
trigue.  At  this  moment,  the  whereabouts  of  little 
me  and  my  message,  are  probably  of  as  much  im 
portance  as  the  comings  and  goings  of  the  Czar,  the 
Mikado,  or  the  First  Gentleman  himself.  But  the 
next  gay  cat  that  tries  any  scoraying  on  me,  will  get 
the  third  degree  right  in  Fogarty's  back  room." 

The  limousine,  the  traffic  jam  relieved,  pulled 
slowly  ahead,  but  Lanagan  could  have  sworn  that 
the  benign  gentleman  within,  just  before  it  did, 
turned  fully  upon  him  with  a  scrutiny  of  deliberate 
coolness.  It  was  a  casual  thing,  such  as  might 
have  happened  to  anyone ;  but  it  appeared  to  Lana 
gan  that  there  was  a  look  of  secret  understanding 
in  the  other's  eyes,  as  they  dropped  twice  to  the 
stick-pin  and  returned  to  Lanagan's  face,  as  though 
in  inquiry.  Lanagan  took  the  number  of  the  car, 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      127 

89,776,  and  then  returned  to  headquarters.  He 
wanted  to  see  from  the  police  register  to  whom 
machine  89,776  belonged. 

When  he  ran  through  the  pages  to  the  number, 
the  ragtime  air  he  was  whistling  —  very  incorrectly 
—  quickened  in  tempo. 

"  89>776"  —  owner  —  Boris  Koshloff  —  2224 
Pacific  Avenue,  San  Francisco." 

"  Aha !  Either  I  am  hearing  scorayas  in  my 
mind,  and  either  everybody  that  looks  at  me  excites 
my  suspicions,  or  else  the  Russian  Mr.  Koshloff  is 
a  link  in  the  very  plain  chain  that  is  stretching  from 
me  and  my  pin  to  His  Majesty  Nicholas,  at  St. 
Petersburg  on  one  end,  and  the  President  in  Wash 
ington  at  the  other.  Frankly,  it  looks  preposterous 
that  if  Koshloff  is  on  the  job,  he  would  use  his  own 
machine.  Then  again  —  what  if  that  is  the  method 
chosen  to  point  my  path  to  me?  If  this  message 
is  to  anyone  in  San  Francisco,  they  must  know  by 
this  time  that  it  has  gone  astray.  Barring  my  own 
coincidence  in  bungling  into  State  secrets  via 
"  Kid "  Monahan's  touch,  and  his  taste  for  the 
really  distinctive  in  jewelry,  it  appears  that  every 
thing  is  working  out  on  a  very  remarkable  and 
finished  system.  I  shall  pay  Mr.  Koshloff  a  visit. 
He  has  been  too  much  of  a  figure  of  mystery  in  this 
city  anyway." 

Boris  Koshloff,  a  wealthy  Russian  portrait 
painter,  had  dropped  into  San  Francisco  with  intro 
ductions,  some  months  before.  He  had  earned  a 


128  LANAGAN 

high  repute  for  the  elegance  of  the  soirees  given  at 
his  house,  and  had  figured  in  the  public  prints,  more 
over,  in  other  ways.  On  one  occasion,  a  burglar, 
found  prowling  within  the  Koshloff's  drawing 
room,  had  been  shot  and  killed  by  Koshloff,  who 
thereupon  was  lionised  to  a  considerable  extent  by 
the  neurotic  and  sentimental  elements  of  his  circle. 
He  had  figured  again,  when  a  household  servant 
had  fallen  from  his  second  story  window,  receiving 
frightful  injuries.  Although  during  his  raving  in 
delirium  the  servant  had  cried  frequently  "  spare 
me !  spare  me !  "  and  had  led  some  cynical  reporters 
on  the  hospital  beat  to  suspect  foul  play,  nothing 
was  ever  proved  in  face  of  Koshloff's  explanation 
that  the  servant  fell  in  cleaning  windows.  After 
the  man  recovered  sufficiently,  he  was  removed  by 
Koshloff  to  a  private  hospital,  and  there  he  passed 
from  the  scope  of  the  newsgatherers  and  hence 
from  public  attention. 

Now,  it  might  be  well  to  say  here,  and  before  the 
reader  is  too  far  carried  away  by  the  story,  that  the 
curious  chronicles  of  the  happenings  about  to  be 
recorded  must  rest  for  all  time,  for  their  authentica 
tion,  in  five  quarters:  the  Russian  government,  the 
American  Department  of  State,  Jack  Lanagan, 
"  King  "  Monahan,  and  myself. 

It  is  not  probable  that  either  the  Russian  or 
American  governments  would  affirm  the  truth  of  the 
facts  recorded.  As  for  the  rest  —  the  extraordi 
nary  series  of  complications  following  the  receipts  of 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      129 

the  stick-pin,  the  use  of  such  a  device  as  the  stick 
pin,  as  the  connecting  link  in  a  grave  international 
crisis,  the  use  of  the  personal  courier  rather  than 
cipher-code  —  they  must  all  be  accepted  on  my 
word,  the  word  of  Lanagan,  or  the  word  of  "  King  " 
Monahan,  who  first  received  the  pin.  To  such  as 
are  unwilling  to  accept  that  proof,  the  story  must 
be  read  solely  as  a  bit  of  fiction. 

Lanagan  strolled  back  to  the  Enquirer.  I  Had 
just  finished  several  yards  of  real  estate  junk  for 
the  business  office,  and  was  as  grouchy  as  the 
brother  of  the  tribe  always  is,  when  assigned  to  do 
business  office  write-ups. 

"  Fine  line  for  an  able-bodied  reporter,"  said 
Lanagan  cynically,  looking  over  my  shoulder. 
"  Turn  that  rot  in  and  come  with  me  and  be  a  real 
reporter.  I'll  give  you  a  story  that  will  make  the 
A.  P.  wires  hum  to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  — 
provided  my  hunch  don't  go  altogether  wrong." 

He  spoke  to  Sampson,  telling  him  that  there  was 
a  bare  chance  of  something  turning  up  on  the  Rus 
so-Japanese  situation,  and  asked  for  me  to  be  de 
tailed  to  accompany  him. 

"  Good,"  replied  Sampson,  "  get  after  it.  We 
haven't  broken  a  story  on  that  yet.  The  eastern 
papers  are  having  a  lot  of  stuff  on  the  Secretary  of 
State,  though.  He  has  dropped  out  of  sight;  the 
A.  P.  is  bringing  in  a  story  broken  by  the  Sun, 
that  his  supposed  sickness  was  the  bunk,  and  that 
as  a  matter  of  fact  he  has  been  out  of  Washington 


130  LANAGAN 

for  a  week.  Supposed  to  be  in  New  York  on  some 
confab  with  the  Russian  Ambassador  who  is  at  the 
Waldorf-Astoria.  The  Ambassador  denies  any 
such  conference.  It's  a  hot  yarn.  Try  to  turn  up 
an  end  on  it  out  here." 

Lanagan  suggested  supper  and  as  we  lingered 
over  our  coffee  and  cigars,  he  briefly  outlined  the 
situation.  I  read  the  astounding  message  and  must 
confess  that  I  was  stirred  to  a  very  unprofessional 
pitch  of  excitement.  Before  taking  a  car  for 
Pacific  Avenue,  we  dropped  in  at  police  headquar 
ters  where  Lanagan  met  Chief  Leslie,  that  shrewd 
thief-taker,  and  they  were  in  earnest  talk  for  ten 
minutes.  In  his  police  reporting  Lanagan  had  the 
superlative  advantage  of  Leslie's  confidence.  That 
famous  chief  had  indeed  as  high  a  regard  for  Lana- 
gan's  work  as  for  that  of  his  own  men.  Leslie 
stood  many  a  "  roast "  from  the  opposition  papers 
for  his  habit  of  programming  with  Lanagan,  and 
for  turning  over  his  men  to  the  service  of  the  news 
paper  man  more  than  once. 

As  we  rode  to  our  destination  Lanagan  instructed 
me  to  take  a  position,  well  concealed,  opposite  the 
Koshloff  house,  wait  until  midnight,  and  then  if  he 
did  not  appear,  telephone  to  headquarters  where 
Brady  and  Wilson,  two  of  Leslie's  best  men,  would 
be  in  readiness  with  the  police  automobile.  We 
were  to  force  the  house. 

"  For  it's  just  possible,"  said  Lanagan  lightly, 
"  that  I  can't  escape  delivering  my  packet.  If  they 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      131 

once  drop  to  me,  it  may  be  interesting.  That '  bur 
glar  '  shot  by  Koshloff  takes  on  rather  a  new  im 
portance.  Likewise  that  foreigner,  who  was  all 
broken  up  in  an  accidental  fall  from  Koshloff's 
second  story  window.  I  rather  look  forward  to  a 
run  in  with  this  gentleman  of  mystery  and  his  ret 
inue  of  '  scorayers.'  But  don't  wait  after  mid 
night.  Brady  will  have  a  search  warrant  on  some 
'phony  charge  or  other,  and  you  can  tear  right  in." 
We  parted  company  several  blocks  from  the 
Koshloff  mansion.  It  was  nearing  nine-thirty.  I 
found  a  hiding-place  almost  directly  opposite, 
slipped  in,  and  in  a  few  moments  saw  Lanagan  walk 
briskly  up  the  stairs  of  the  Russian's  house.  He 
was  whistling  a  bit  of  ragtime;  as  usual  off  key. 
His  insouciance  cheered  me.  Frankly,  I  was  ner 
vous;  a  weakness  I  cannot  seem  to  overcome.  I 
have  never  failed  Lanagan  yet  at  a  crisis,  and  I 
suppose,  on  results,  am  as  brave  as  he.  But  in  my 
own  heart  I  know  I  am  not.  Possibly  gifted  with 
a  little  more  imagination  than  he,  I  can  see  further; 
picture  the  slab  at  the  morgue,  the  gang  in  the 
police  reporter's  room  chipping  in  for  a  floral  piece 
while  somebody  tries  to  relieve  the  strain  by  saying 
something  funny ;  Johnny  O'Grady  or  Jim  Bradley, 
or  some  of  the  others  of  the  old  guard  delegated  to 
the  pleasant  detail  of  carrying  the  news  home;  it 
was  always  the  same.  I  always  had  that  faculty, 
as  Hamlet  says,  of  thinking  too  precisely  on  the 
event. 


132  LANAGAN 

The  door  opened  to  Lanagan's  ring,  and  he 
passed  from  my  sight  to  be  ushered  along  the  main 
hall,  down  a  flight  of  steps,  through  another  long 
hall,  carpeted  richly,  with  niches  here  and  there 
holding  exquisite  statuary,  to  a  billiard-room 
panelled  in  richest  mahogany.  From  the  conduct 
of  his  guide  it  was  apparent  that  he  was  expected. 
In  the  billiard-room  two  smooth-shaven,  trim,  keen- 
eyed  men  were  playing  a  desultory  game.  Surmise 
was  bulking  large  within  Lanagan's  breast.  He 
had  seen  that  same  type  before.  Secret  service  was 
stamped  as  indelibly  upon  them  as  his  vocation  is 
stamped  upon  the  upper  office  man. 

A  light  tattoo  on  a  panelling,  an  answering  tattoo, 
another  staccato  and  the  panel  slid  back  and  the 
odour  of  black  cigars  was  heavy  on  the  air  as  Lana- 
gan  stepped  into  a  small  compartment,  the  panel 
slipping  noiselessly  shut  behind  him  as  his  guide 
disappeared.  At  a  table  were  seated  two  men,  fac 
ing  him. 

One  of  the  two  he  recognised:  Koshloff.  But 
the  other!  Lanagan  looked  hard.  There  could  be 
no  mistake;  those  features  had  been  looming  from 
the  front  pages  of  the  papers  too  frequently  for  any 
mistake.  Lanagan  stood  without  speaking,  but  be 
fore  his  mind's  eye  was  dancing  the  front  page  of 
to-morrow's  Enquirer.  He  would  lay  a  seven 
column  lead  across  that  page  that  would  carry 
around  the  world. 

It  was  Koshloff  who  spoke. 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      133 

"  You  have  the  packet  ?  Yes  ?  Would  you  pre 
sent  it  ?  " 

Then,  in  a  low  voice  to  the  other,  as  Lanagan 
calmly  placed  the  sealskin  wallet  upon  the  table, 
Koshloff  murmured: 

"  Assuredly  my  superiors  must  know  their  busi 
ness.  But  I  cannot  comprehend  the  disappearance 
of  Carlos  and  the  transfer  of  the  pin  and  packet  to 
the  stranger.  It  must  be  in  order,  however.  Our 
system  has  never  failed." 

He  turned  a  shrewd  gaze  upon  Lanagan,  study 
ing  him  intently. 

"  When  do  you  return?  "  he  asked  finally. 

"  Just  as  soon  as  I  am  permitted  to,"  replied 
Lanagan  with  perfect  truth. 

"  Strange,"  muttered  Koshloff  in  the  other's  ear. 
"  Peculiar.  It  is  the  answer.  We  have  no  choice. 
It  must  be  in  order." 

Without  more  ado  the  packet  was  opened  and 
Koshloff  presented  the  slip  in  silence  to  his  com 
panion.  That  man,  of  massive,  intellectual  fore 
head  and  deep  set,  penetrating  eyes,  scanned  it  care 
fully  and  pondered  long,  Koshloff  watching  him 
with  half  closed  but  eager  eyes. 

"  Tell  your  Imperial  Master,"  said  the  other, 
turning  sharply  upon  Lanagan  and  speaking  with 
clean  incisiveness,  "  that  you  met  the  Secretary  of 
State  in  person,  and  that  the  Secretary,  speaking 
for  his  excellency  the  President,  says,  that  the  an 
swer  of  the  President  is  —  yes." 


134  LANAGAN 

The  Secretary  of  State,  ten  days  disappeared 
from  Washington,  out  here  on  the  western  fringe 
of  the  continent,  pledging  the  attitude  of  the  United 
States  in  the  threatened  Russo-Japanese  conflict  and 
not  a  line  in  any  paper  in  the  world  to  indicate  the 
whereabouts  of  the  Secretary,  his  business,  or  the 
definite  attitude  of  the  United  States  in  the  im 
pending  conflict ! 

It  was  the  story  of  a  newspaper  man's  lifetime. 

"  Carry  the  verbal  message,  or  transmit  it  to  your 
relief,"  instructed  Koshloff.  "  Conditions  may  not 
make  packets  safe  by  the  time  you  reach  the  Orient. 
You  may  go.  You  have  funds?  Your  pin  is 
safe?" 

"  I  have,"  said  Lanagan,  who,  with  two  days  to 
go  to  pay  day,  had  about  sixty-five  cents.  He  in 
dicated  the  pin  with  a  gesture  and  turned  on  his 
heel  for  the  panel,  to  be  stopped  by  a  sudden  muf 
fled  uproar  from  the  billiard-room,  a  sound  of  ex 
cited,  shrill  cries,  of  scuffling. 

Neither  the  Secretary  nor  Koshloff  moved  a  mus 
cle;  neither  did  Lanagan.  He  was  thoroughly  in 
possession  of  himself.  Two  panels  swiftly  and 
noiselessly  slid  open  at  the  farther  wall  of  the  room, 
and  two  smooth-shaven,  trim,  keen-eyed  men  stepped 
into  the  room  alertly  and  took  their  places  beside 
the  Secretary's  chair. 

"  Mr.  Secretary  travels  with  the  entire  secret  serv 
ice  bureau,"  Lanagan  found  time  to  comment  to 
himself. 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      135 

There  came  a  tattoo  on  the  panel  from  the  bil 
liard-room.  The  Secretary  held  up  his  hand  for 
silence  and  motioned  one  of  the  secret  service 
agents,  who  stepped  noiselessly  to  the  panel  and 
listened.  The  tapping  came  again. 

"  Answer,"  commanded  the  Secretary.  "  It  is 
over,  whatever  it  was." 

The  panel  slid  open.  Through  the  aperture  came 
one  of  the  billiard  players,  flashing  a  quick,  steely 
glance  upon  Lanagan. 

"  Balked,  by  the  eternal ! "  shot  through  Lana- 
gan's  mind.  "  The  owner  of  that  pin  has  shown  up. 
It's  now  or  never."  He  stepped  casually  to  the 
panel;  it  was  a  fine  chance.  Once  through  there, 
he  could  make  a  fight  for  the  front  door, —  and  the 
seven  column  exclusive  in  the  Enquirer. 

Directly  before  him,  fairly  filling  the  space  of  the 
panel,  was  the  other  billiard  player.  It  was  quick 
action.  Lanagan  shot  out  his  right  for  the  man's 
jaw;  but  his  arm  got  about  half  way.  A  grip  like 
an  iron  clamp  had  him  just  above  the  elbow.  He 
was  whirled  face  about,  a  secret  service  man  on 
either  side. 

As  though  nothing  had  happened,  the  man 
who  had  first  entered  through  the  panel  door 
spoke : 

"  There  is  a  person  outside  somewhat  excited 
who  wishes  to  speak  to  Mr.  Koshloff.  He  said  to 
say  it  was  Carlos." 

Koshloff  leaped  for  the  doorway  and  in  a  moment 


i36  LANAGAN 

more  had  dragged  fairly  by  the  hair  of  his  head, 
a  wild-eyed,  dark-visaged  person  who,  when  he 
straightened  up,  perceived  the  pin  in  Lanagan's  tie 
and  made  a  tigerish  spring  for  him,  a  dirk  gleaming 
in  a  half  arc  as  he  leaped.  But  the  right  fist  of 
one  of  the  secret  agents  met  him  en  route,  and  the 
frenzied  Carlos  was  disarmed.  He  staggered  to  his 
feet,  striving  vainly  to  get  at  Lanagan. 

"  Thief !  Robber !  Death  to  him !  Death  to  him 
who  dares  rob  the  messenger  of  His  Imperial  Ma 
jesty,  Nicholas !  " 

'*  The  gentleman  appears  to  be  teething,"  re 
marked  Lanagan. 

Koshloff  pressed  a  button  and  two  swart  giants 
appeared.  He  indicated  Carlos  with  a  nod.  "  He 
wore  the  pin,  but  he  has  failed  in  his  obligation. 
He  must  receive  discipline."  The  miserable  wretch 
fell  to  his  knees  with  upraised  hands,  supplicat 
ing. 

"Ah,  no,  Sire!  My  wife!  My  babies!  Ten 
minutes  too  late,  or  I  would  have  had  it  back  and 
this  sneak  thief's  life!  " 

But  Koshloff  frowned  impatiently  and  in  a  sec 
ond  more  Carlos  was  whisked  away,  a  wierd  scream 
floating  back  wearily  from  some  hidden  corridor 
to  indicate  the  terror  that  gripped  him.  There 
was  something  in  that  scream  of  fear  of  more  than 
the  knout.  As  it  rang  through  Lanagan's  ears, 
he  recalled  the  crossed  axes  and  the  hangman's 
jioose  of  the  pin.  It  was  clear  enough.  There 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      137 

would  be  another  burglar  killed.  He  wheeled  upon 
Koshloff. 

"  Professor  Koshloff,  or  whoever  or  whatever 
you  are,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  deadly  acidity,  "  that 
man  is  turned  up  out  of  here  unharmed  by  so  much 
as  a  scratch,  or  I'll  have  you  snaked  into  the  city 
prison  within  twenty-four  hours,  and  some  other 
very  general  suspicions  will  incidentally  be  given 
an  airing.  You  may  be  the  right  eye  or  the  right 
hand  of  His  Serene  Majesty  Nicholas,  but  I'm  Jack 
Lanagan  of  the  San  Francisco  Enquirer,  and  in 
my  own  particular  bailiwick,  something  of  a  czar 
myself.  You're  a  long  way  from  Russia  right 
now.  You're  in  little  old  San  Francisco.  Did  you 
get  me  ?  " 

The  cat-like  quality  of  Lanagan's  eyes  to  glow 
under  the  stress  of  anger  or  great  excitement,  ex 
hibited  itself.  His  face  in  anger  was  not  what  was 
calculated  to  put  infants  to  slumber.  He  had  for 
gotten  the  Secretary  for  the  moment ;  the  agents  had 
all  withdrawn.  He  was  recalled  to  him  when  that 
person,  taking  his  cigar  from  his  teeth  and  gazing 
upon  its  ash  contemplatively,  said  in  even  tones : 

"  I  think  possibly  you  are  unduly  exercising  your 
self.  Something  of  a  Czar?"  The  smooth  voice 
went  on.  "  Indeed,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  meet 
the  Czar  of  the  bailiwick  of  San  Francisco,"  and 
the  Secretary  bowed  profoundly  and  gravely. 
"  Now  let  us  talk  business,  Mr.  Lanagan. 

"  As  for  Carlos,  his  case  is  absolutely  ex-terri- 


I38  LANAGAN 

51 

torial  so  far  as  we  are  concerned.  Please  inform 
me  how  you  came  by  that  packet  and  pin  —  eaves 
dropping  in  matters  of  State?  Do  you  young  men 
of  the  press  hold  nothing  sacred?  Not  your  coun 
try's  peace  or  the  peace  of  other  nations?  " 

"  So  far  as  that  goes,"  retorted  Lanagan,  coolly, 
"  and  not  condescending  to  take  note  of  your 
*  eavesdropping,'  we  young  men  of  the  press  have 
a  duty  to  our  papers  which  our  papers  in  turn 
owe  to  the  people.  In  this  case  it  is  a  clear  duty. 
By  what  right  do  you  or  any  other  man,  president 
or  not,  arrogate  to  yourself  the  power  to  hold  this 
secret  caucus,  resting  your  country's  stand  in  this 
grave  affair  entirely  upon  the  judgment  of  one  or 
two  men?  You  are  the  servant  of  the  people.  Let 
the  whole  people  know  where  you  are  now  and 
what  you  are  doing.  Get  the  sentiment  of  your 
country  before  you  plunge  into  this  agreement.  I 
personally  most  emphatically  disagree  with  the  an 
swer  you  are  sending  back.  The  public  are  as 
likely  to  think  my  way  as  yours." 

The  Secretary  looked  bored.  "  It  is  not  possi 
ble." 

"  With  this  exception,"  grimly.  Lanagan  turned 
for  the  panel  and  sought  the  spring.  "It  is  ten 
minutes  after  twelve,"  he  said  laconically.  "  I 
must  leave  here.  Open  the  door,  if  you  please." 

Neither  man  moved.     The  Secretary  said: 

"  We  have  not  quite  covered  our  ground.  You 
have  not  answered  my  question." 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      139 

"  The  pin  I  received  from  a  friend  who  claimed 
to  have  taken  it  from  a  pawnshop.  The  packet 
was  put  in  my  pocket  by  a  swarthy  man  who  met 
me  on  the  street  and  who  said  '  scoraya.'  So  did 
another  chap  in  Koshloff's  automobile.  I  wanted 
to  see  the  thing  through  that  so  accidentally  came 
my  way. 

"  Now,  when  I  came  in  here  I  did  not  come 
alone.  I  am  fully  aware  that  nations,  planning 
wars  to  cost  hundreds  or  thousands  of  lives,  would 
not  scruple  at  one.  My  friends  should  be  break 
ing  in  here  now.  I  told  them  to  give  me  until 
twelve  o'clock. 

"  So  far  as  your  man  Carlos  is  concerned,  I  can 
only  surmise  that  he  was  to  meet  a  courier  at  the 
steamer,  but  had  his  pin  stolen  from  him.  The 
courier  then  wandered  the  streets  seeking  the  pin, 
and  by  happy  chance  tumbled  against  me  wearing 
it,  and  likewise  wandering  the  streets.  The  other 
'  scoraya '  boy  I  presume  was  one  of  Koshloff's 
secret  service  men,  sent  out  to  see  that  the  mes 
senger  reached  here  safely.  He  must  have  like 
wise  picked  me  up  on  the  matinee  promenade  by 
accident." 

"  Correctly  reasoned,"  murmured  Koshloff. 
"  And  I  believe  you  have  cleared  the  situation.  A 
most  remarkable  series  of  coincidences;  but  then, 
anything  may  happen  in  this  remarkable  city  of 
yours." 

"  Do  I  go  peaceably  ?  "  asked  Lanagan,  glancing 


i4o  LANAGAN 

at  his  watch.  His  voice  hardened  a  trifle.  It  was 
twelve-thirty. 

"  After  —  ah  —  a  bit,"  purred  Koshloff,  and  the 
next  instant  was  gazing  coolly  into  Lanagan's  po 
lice  Colt's. 

Koshloff  lifted  his  hand  with  an  indolent  ges 
ture,  to  push  the  muzzle  to  one  side,  took  a  look 
into  Lanagan's  eyes,  thought  better  of  it,  and  turned 
with  mock  deprecation  to  the  Secretary.  That  gen 
tleman  was  watching  Lanagan  with  frank  admira 
tion. 

"  We've  got  a  place  for  you,  Mr.  Lanagan,"  he 
said,  heartily,  "  any  time  you  care  to  come  to  Wash 
ington." 

Lanagan  was  nettled.  Here  were  keen,  quick 
witted,  level-headed  men  poking  quiet  fun  at  his 
spectacular  display.  Because  they  were  of  the  quick 
intuitions  of  the  exceptional  mind,  they  fathomed 
his  mind  and  knew  that  he  would  not  shoot.  Lana 
gan  felt  rather  boyish  for  a  fleeting  second ;  got  him 
self  in  perspective,  as  it  were,  and  grinned  at  the 
grotesqueness  of  the  situation.  Then  that  seven- 
column  scare  head  in  the  Enquirer  —  the  exclusive 
that  was  to  hum  around  the  world,  focussed  before 
him. 

"  Open  that  door !  " 

Koshloff  arose  then.  There  is  something  singu 
larly  compelling  about  a  blue-nosed  revolver  six 
inches  from  your  temple,  regardless  of  any  psycho 
logical  conviction  you  may  have  that  the  man  is  not 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      141 

going  to  use  it.  But  whether  Lanagan  would  have 
carried  the  situation  through  successfully  cannot  be 
answered.  For  at  that  moment  there  came  a  tap 
ping  on  the  panel.  Koshloff  stopped  at  a  signal 
from  Lanagan.  The  tapping  came  again.  The 
Secretary  spoke: 

"  The  situation  is  becoming  strained,  however 
diverting  it  may  be  to  all  of  us.  For  my  part, 
here  are  three  men,  all  presumably  of  minds  trained 
to  meet  sudden  exigencies,  and  yet  no  one  of  us  can 
solve  this  one.  But  other  matters  seem  to  be  press 
ing."  The  tapping  was  becoming  more  insistent. 
"  Let  us  call  a  truce,  Mr.  Lanagan,  of  precisely  ten 
minutes.  At  the  end  of  that  time  I  give  you  my 
word  we  will  return  matters  to  just  their  present 
condition.  It  is  agreeable?" 

"  Absolutely,"  said  Lanagan,  pocketing  his  re 
volver. 

Koshloff  sprang  across  the  room  and  tapped. 
He  was  answered  to  his  satisfaction,  for  the  panel 
slid  open,  and  after  a  whispered  consultation  with 
one  of  the  secret  service  men,  Koshloff  stood  from 
before  the  panel  and  — 

I,  Norton,  my  hands  neatly  manacled  behind  me, 
was  ushered  into  the  room. 

Never  will  I  forget  the  look  on  Lanagan's  face. 
For  at  least  three  seconds,  he  was  jolted  out  of  his 
traditional  immobility.  His  look  was  mingled 
alarm,  surprise  and  amusement. 

"Poor   Norrie!"  half-banteringly,   half-serious. 


i42  LANAGAN 

"  Poor  old  blunderbuss.  I  have  certainly  got  him  m 
a  fine  mess,  him  and  his  sick  wife  at  home." 

I  was  so  glad  to  see  that  nothing  had  happened  to 
him,  that  I  paid  little  attention  to  the  other  two  for 
the  moment.  I  was  telling  him  how  I  waited  until 
12:15  and  had  just  determined  on  telephoning 
headquarters  for  Brady  and  Wilson  when,  standing 
as  I  supposed  well  concealed,  I  was  suddenly  pin 
ioned  by  two  figures  that  seemed  to  start  up  from 
the  earth,  handcuffed  and  hustled  across  the  street 
into  the  room  where  we  now  were. 

"  I  must  compliment  you  on  your  organisation," 
said  Lanagan  ironically,  bowing  toward  Koshloff. 
Around  that  gentleman's  bearded  lips  played  the 
faintest  trace  of  a  mocking  smile.  I  could  fancy 
how  that  smile  ground  into  the  proud  soul  of  Lana 
gan. 

The  Secretary  was  growing  impatient. 

"  The  ten  minutes,  Mr.  Lanagan  ?  "  he  queried. 

Lanagan  turned  and  looked  at  me  a  long  time. 
"  You  should  have  obeyed  orders,"  he  said  finally. 
"  I  told  you  to  give  me  until  twelve ;  not  twelve- 
fifteen." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  Lanagan  had 
ever  criticised  me,  and  it  cut  to  the  quick.  I  knew 
then  how  bitter  his  disappointment  was. 

"  What  is  your  '  proposition?  '  "  he  said,  turning 
abruptly  to  the  Secretary,  whom  I  had  at  once 
recognised  as  well  as  Koshloff. 

"  I  haven't  any  '  proposition/  Mr.  Lanagan.     It 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      143 

is  simply  that  neither  the  Russian  government  nor 
our  government  can  afford  to  let  the  world  power 
know  that  the  Secretary  of  State  journeyed,  in 
cognito,  across  the  American  continent,  to  reach 
a  diplomatic  agreement  with  Russia.  Don't  you 
realise  what  the  publication  of  that  unprecedented 
thing  would  mean  ?  " 

"  My  only  proposition  is  a  declaration.  You 
hear  most  important  information.  It  would  un 
doubtedly  make  a  splendid  news  sensation  to-mor 
row  morning.  But  you  cannot  possibly  see  the 
great  dangers  you  would  involve  your  country  in. 
You  might  as  well  sit  on  a  barrel  of  giant  powder, 
and  drop  your  cigar  and  expect  to  save  so  much 
as  a  collar  button,  as  to  print  that  story  now  and 
avoid  war. 

"  My  being  here  was  absolutely  a  matter  impera 
tive  for  certain  sufficient  reasons.  It  was  necessary 
that  I  present  myself  to  Mr.  Koshloff  in  person. 
That  is  all. 

"  I  know  newspaper  men.  Among  the  Wash 
ington  correspondents  I  number  many  warm 
friends.  I  will  take  the  judgment  upon  myself  of 
placing  you  both  upon  your  honour.  If  I  permit 
you  to  go  free  from  here,  your  lips  are  inviolately 
sealed  for  all  time,  upon  the  contents  of  that  tele 
gram.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  that  cannot  be 
used  until  such  time  as  this  trouble  has  been  ad 
justed;  or,  let  me  say,  until  the  present  adminis 
tration  is  out  of  power  at  Washington." 


144  LANAGAN 

Into  the  stillness  that  followed  I  could  distinctly 
hear  Lanagan's  teeth  grind  together.  Those  re 
markable  eyes  of  his  seemed  fairly  to  emit  a  stream 
of  fire,  they  blazed  so  fiercely  upon  Koshloff  and 
the  Secretary.  He  threw  a  sweeping  glance  around 
the  room.  It  was  a  look  for  all  the  world  like 
you  see  in  the  eyes  of  a  caged  tiger  when  he  is 
aroused.  For  my  part,  there  was  a  quick  drop 
some  place  under  my  diaphragm.  I  was  thinking 
of  my  sick  wife,  and  the  consequences  to  her  of 
being  held  a  State's  prisoner. 

His  hand  went  to  his  pocket  and  he  half  drew 
his  revolver;  but  it  was  rather  a  subconscious  act, 
I  think,  than  any  deliberate  design  to  use  it.  For 
Government,  after  all,  is  a  potent  thing.  We  fight 
for  it  and  die  for  it.  It  has  a  splendid  and  natural 
influence  not  to  be  lightly  tossed  from  us.  And 
here  sat  one  of  Government's  highest  representa 
tives.  Lanagan's  hand  dropped  to  his  side. 

"  That  is  better,"  said  the  Secretary.  "  For 
really,  Mr.  Lanagan,  you  cannot  move  from  this 
room  until  we  say  the  word.  You  are  as  helpless 
as  though  you  were  shackled.  It  is  late  and  we 
have  important  work  to  do.  Your  answer  ?  " 

It  was  almost  pitiable  to  see  Lanagan  then.  He 
of  a  score  of  brilliant  newspaper  victories,  the  genius 
of  his  craft,  who  found  no  situation  too  difficult 
to  solve,  that  striking  figure  in  the  newspaper  life 
of  the  West  who  knew  no  duty  save  to  his  paper, 
who  embodied  the  best  and  the  highest  ideals  that 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      145 

tradition  gives  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  Fourth  Es 
tate,  was  beaten. 

The  glow  had  left  his  eyes  and  his  voice  was 
dispirited,  as  he  said: 

"  You  have  my  word,  Mr.  Secretary,  but  on  one 
condition:  that  Carlos'  life  be  spared,  and  that  you 
start  him  back  with  your  answer.  It  was  no  fault 
of  his.  There  is  only  one  man  in  town  who  could 
have  got  that  pin  from  him,  and  I  can  hardly  blame 
Carlos  for  losing  it,  once  Kid  Monahan  wanted  it." 

"  That  condition  must  be  granted,  Mr.  Koshloff," 
said  the  Secretary.  Koshloff  hesitated.  "  The 
wearer  of  the  pin  understands  the  penalty,"  he 
began,  curtly.  "  I  know.  But  in  this  case  I  per 
sonally  request  it."  "  It  is  granted,"  said  Kosh 
loff,  definitely. 

Lanagan  was  morose  and  savage.  The  Secre 
tary  proffered  cigars,  which  Lanagan  impatiently 
refused. 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  I  would  like,  however," 
he  said  with  but  faint  show  of  graciousness,  "  and 
that  is  this  pin.  It  will  not  be  worn.  I  would  like 
it  as  a  memento;  as  something  tangible  to  exhibit 
some  day  when  I  may  tell  this  story,  as  proof,  in 
support  of,  possibly,  one  of  the  most  unusual  ex 
periences  of  myself  or  any  other  newspaper  man." 

"  There  are  but  two  in  existence,"  said  Koshloff 
soberly.  "  This  one  belongs  to  our  Ambassador  at 
Washington.  It  was  sent  to  me  for  use  in  receiv 
ing  the  imperial  message.  The  other  —  is  in  the 


i46  LANAGAN 

possession  of  the  Czar,  and  will  be  worn  by  the  re 
ceiving  courier  at  St.  Petersburg.  The  penalty  at 
taching  to  the  loss  of  the  pin,  either  to  myself  or 
my  agents  are  —  well,  they  are  somewhat  stringent 
and,  with  the  single  exception  of  Carlos,  have  al 
ways  been  enforced." 

Lanagan  snapped  the  patent  clasp  and  handed  the 
pin  to  Koshloff. 

"  You  see,  if  I  lost  it,"  with  the  slightest  inflec 
tion  on  the  pronoun,  "  there  would  be  no  Czar  of 
this  '  particular  bailiwick '  to  pardon  me  as  you 
pardoned  Carlos,  Mr.  Koshloff." 

We  walked  the  long  distance  back  to  town  and 
dropped  in  at  .  Lanagan  had  not  ad 
dressed  a  word  to  me.  I  knew  better  than  to  at 
tempt  to  draw  him  into  conversation.  I  could  feel 
that  he  was  working  the  thing  over  and  over  again 
in  his  mind.  He  suddenly  burst  forth  passionately : 

"  I  could  have  beaten  them !  I  could  have  beaten 
them!  And  they  didn't  convince  me  at  that,  that 
the  story  should  not  have  been  printed !  There's 
too  much  of  this  one-man- for-the-nation  stuff  in 
our  government,  anyhow." 

It  was  months  before  Lanagan  told  me  that  it 
was  because  of  my  wife's  feeble  health  that  he 
feared  to  take  the  risk  of  having  us  both  bottled 
up  for  a  month,  by  manoeuvring  further  for  free 
dom  ;  and  had  added :  "  Merely  another  argument 
to  prove  that  your  true  reporter  should  not  marry." 

And  as  if  to  justify  the  truth  of  Lanagan's  as- 


THE  AMBASSADOR'S  STICK-PIN      147 

sertion  to  me  that  the  story  should  have  been  printed, 
within  three  days  the  Japanese  fleet,  scorpion-like, 
had  struck  and  crippled  that  unsuspecting  and  un 
ready  Russian  flotilla. 

"  Yah ! "  Lanagan  had  cried  to  me  in  furious 
disgust,  as  he  ripped  the  front  page  of  the  Enquirer 
with  its  seven-column  war  head  to  tatters,  "  States 
men!  Diplomats!  Give  me  one  live  reporter,  and 
I'll  teach  the  whole  gang  of  them  the  right  way! 
Do  you  suppose  for  one  single,  solitary,  coruscat 
ing  second,  that  if  those  Japs  knew  the  Secretary 
was  hobnobbing  with  the  Russian  envoy  right  here 
in  San  Francisco,  that  the  blow  would  have  been 
struck?  Well,  I  tell  you  No!  I  wouldn't  even 
have  had  to  print  the  message.  The  story  of  the 
meeting  was  enough." 

Well,  the  time  limit  set  by  the  Secretary  has  long 
since  expired,  so  here  is  the  suppressed  story  of  the 
Ambassador's  Stick-Pin,  the  finest,  biggest,  clean 
est  in  its  elements  of  any  of  his  whole  career,  as 
Lanagan  mourned  to  me  more  than  once. 


VI 

WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH 


VI 

WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH 

SAMPSON,  city  editor  of  the  San  Francisco  En 
quirer,  sat  scowling  over  the  Times  and  the 
Herald.     Stripped  blackly  across  the   front  pages 
of  those  rival  morning  papers  was  the  unaccus 
tomed  seven-column  head: 

SUSPECT  JAILED  FOR  MONTEAGLE 
MURDER! 

"Norton!" 

It  was  Sampson's  voice.  When  Sampson  shot 
that  curt  call  in  his  ugly  voice  through  the  swing 
ing  doors  of  his  office  I  felt  as  though  the  warden 
was  calling  me  from  the  condemned  cell  for  the 
drop.  Only  the  able-bodied  newspaper  man  who 
has  been  trimmed  hard  by  the  men  of  the  opposi 
tion  papers  can  understand  the  sensation.  It  be 
longs  in  its  exquisite  misery  solely  to  such  as  speak 
the  language  of  the  tribe.  For  the  head  in  the 
Enquirer  —  my  story  —  had  been  only  a  three- 
column  : 

POLICE  ARE  BAFFLED  IN  MONTEAGLE 
MYSTERY! 

Sampson  contemplated  me  coldly  and  long;  he 
151 


i52  LANAGAN 

fairly  brooded  over  me.  But  there  was  no  out 
burst,  and  that,  after  all,  hurt  worse  than  if  he  had 
put  me  on  the  irons  for  a  broiling. 

Ralph  Monteagle,  broker,  millionaire,  well- 
known,  popular,  and  engaged  to  the  equally  well- 
known  and  popular  Helen  Dennison,  had  been 
found  in  his  office  on  the  fourth  floor  of  the  Sut- 
ton  Building,  stabbed  to  death.  No  weapon  was 
found,  the  door  was  locked,  the  window  shut. 
Neither  money  nor  valuables  were  taken.  The 
knife,  curiously,  had  been  sliced  once  across  each 
cheek,  evidently  done  after  death,  with  deliberate 
intent  to  mar  the  features.  Monteagle  had  entered 
his  offices  at  9:15  o'clock  on  Monday  evening.  The 
watchman  had  discovered  the  crime  at  midnight 
The  system  in  the  Sutton  Building  permitted  an 
absolute  check  on  all  persons  entering  the  building 
after  8  o'clock,  when  the  outer  doors  were  locked. 
Any  person  coming  in  after  that  hour  was  admitted 
by  the  watchman,  Murray,  who  until  12  o'clock  was 
stationed  in  the  lobby.  The  night  elevator  man 
kept  a  record  of  each  person  entering  the  building 
and  to  which  room  he  went.  It  was  a  building 
given  over  to  brokers,  capitalists,  and  large  law 
firms,  and  several  robberies  of  magnitude  had 
brought  about  this  particular  system  of  keeping  a 
check  on  all  persons  in  the  building  after  night. 

The  elevator  man,  on  going  off  duty  at  midnight, 
turned  his  book  over  to  the  watchman,  who  there 
upon  made  the  rounds  of  each  of  the  offices  where 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      153 

there  were  still  tenants  or  visitors.  It  was  in  this 
manner  that  the  crime  had  been  discovered  after 
Murray  had  rapped  repeatedly  on  Monteagle's  door 
and  had  finally  admitted  himself  with  his  master's 
key. 

Only  three  other  tenants  had  been  in  the  build 
ing  during  the  evening,  and  they  were  able  to  clear 
themselves  of  all  suspicion.  The  police  turned  their 
attention  to  the  attaches  of  the  building.  Sus 
picion  fell  on  a  janitor,  Stromberg,  who  had  the 
fourth  and  fifth  floors.  Apparently  clinching  proof 
of  the  police  suspicions  had  been  afforded  when 
Stromberg's  jumper,  blood  stained,  was  located  at 
his  laundry.  It  was  in  the  arrest  of  Stromberg, 
which  had  taken  place  late  the  night  before,  that  I 
had  been  "  scooped "  through  my  zealousness  in 
leaving  the  detectives  uncovered  while  I  followed 
a  lead  that  subsequently  proved  entirely  wrong. 

Stromberg  claimed  to  have  cut  his  hand  with  a 
scraper  while  cleaning  the  mosaic  tiling,  and  had  a 
deep  gash  on  the  ball  of  his  thumb.  The  police 
theory  was  that  he  had  gashed  himself  purposely, 
and  in  answer  to  his  defence  that  it  would  have 
been  an  insane  thing  for  him  to  have  sent  his  jum 
per  to  the  laundry  if  he  had  committed  the  crime, 
held  to  the  theory  that  he  had  taken  precisely  that 
method,  in  combination  with  the  self-imposed  gash 
on  his  hand,  to  divert  suspicion  by  seeming  frank 
ness. 

With  the  commendable  faculty  of  the  American 


i54  LANAGAN 

police  in  usually  working  to  fasten  the  crime  upon 
whomsoever  they  may  happen  to  have  in  custody, 
the  officers  were  devoting  their  energies  to  "  cinch 
ing  "  their  case  qn  Stromberg. 

When  Sampson  had  completed  his  disquieting  sur 
vey  of  me,  he  finally  said : 

"  I  am  giving  this  story  to  Ransom  and  Dickson 
to  handle  to-day."  I  could  see  that  he  had  it  all 
figured  out  in  his  cold-blooded  way;  that  nothing 
else  was  to  be  expected  of  me  than  to  be  scooped, 
and  that  any  remarks  would  be  superfluous.  But 
it  ground  me.  "  What  I  want  you  to  do,"  he  con 
tinued  nastily,  "  is  to  find  Lanagan.  Possibly  you 
can  succeed  in  that  at  least.  I  wouldn't  be  sorry  at 
that  if  some  more  of  you  fellows  drank  the  brand  of 
liquor  Lanagan  drinks  once  in  a  while.  I  might 
get  a  story  out  of  the  bunch  of  you  occasionally. 
Instead,  the  Times  and  the  Herald  give  it  to  us  on 
the  features  of  this  story  three  days  running  — 
three  days.  It's  the  worst  beating  I've  had  in  a 
year.  You  find  Lanagan  and  tell  him  I  want  him 
to  jump  into  the  story  independent  of  Ransom  and 
Dickson.  I  would  like  to  get  the  tail  feathers  out 
of  this  thing,  anyhow." 

Ransom  and  Dickson  had  no  relish  for  the  story, 
three  days  old. 

"  Might  as  well  try  to  galvanise  a  corpse,"  grum 
bled  Ransom.  I  turned  over  to  them  what  matters 
I  had  that  might  bear  watching,  and  was  about  to 
leave  the  office  when  the  'phone  rang  for  me.  Very 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      155 

fortunately,  it  was  Lanagan ;  and  I  couldn't  forbear 
a  sort  of  gulp,  because  I  felt  instinctively  that  he 
had  wakened  up  somewhere  out  of  his  ten  days' 
lapse,  with  the  knowledge  that  I  was  handling  the 
Monteagle  story  and  was  getting  badly  beaten  on  it. 
I  was  right  in  that,  too. 

"  Thought  I  would  catch  you  before  you  left," 
he  said.  His  voice  was  throaty,  and  I  judged  that 
he  had  been  seeing  some  hard  days  and  nights. 
"  Suppose  that  pickled  jellyfish  of  a  Sampson  has 
been  lacing  you?  You  should  be  laced.  Met 
Brady  a  few  minutes  ago  and  he  said  you  were 
handling  —  or  mishandling  —  the  story.  You 
ought  to  get  a  month's  lay-off  for  letting  that 
crowd  of  two-by-four  dubs,  on  the  Times  at  least, 
get  the  best  of  you.  Come  on  down.  I  want  to 
talk  things  over." 

He  was  at  Billy  Connors'  "  Buckets  of  Blood," 
that  famed  barroom  rendezvous  by  the  Hall  of 
Justice,  where  the  thieves'  clans  were  wont  to  for 
gather.  There  was  nothing  of  particular  coinci 
dence  in  his  ringing  me  up  just  when  he  did;  it  was 
shortly  after  i  o'clock,  the  hour  when  the  local  staff 
reported  on,  and  he  would  be  sure  of  finding  me  in. 

He  sat  at  the  rear  alcove  table  with  "  King  "  Mon- 
ahan.  "  You  know  my  friend  the  King,  of 
course  ? "  was  his  greeting.  Monahan,  one-time 
designated  King  of  the  Pickpockets,  after  serving 
two  terms,  had  retired  from  the  active  practice  of 
that  profession  to  establish  himself,  it  was  gener- 


156  LANAGAN 

ally  believed,  not  only  as  a  "  fence,"  handling  ex 
clusively  the  precious  stones,  but  also  as  a  sort  of 
local  organiser,  to  whom  any  outside  gang  must 
report  on  or  before  beginning  operations  in  San 
Francisco.  There  is  system  in  crime  these  days 
as  in  all  things  else. 

"  Kind  of  stuck  it  in  and  broke  it  off,  didn't 
they?  "  he  continued. 

"  I've  stood  one  panning  from  Sampson ;  I  don't 
want  another  from  you,"  I  retorted  savagely. 

"  Norrie,"  he  said,  "  you  overlooked  a  very  vital 
point.  The  King  and  I  have  been  talking  it  over," 
—  he  had  the  three  morning  papers  spread  out  be 
fore  him  — "  and  we  have  concluded  that  there  was 
a  woman  in  the  case.  And  when  two  eminent  crim- 
inologists,  like  Kid  Monahan  and  Jack  Lanagan, 
agree  that  there  is  a  woman  in  a  case,  it  at  least  is 
worthy  of  consideration." 

"  A  moll,  sure,"  vouchsafed  Monahan  in  his  dif 
fident  way.  He  had  a  manner  as  timorous  as  a 
girl,  which  possibly  accounted  for  the  success  that 
he  enjoyed  while  practising  his  profession.  He  was 
not  one,  on  the  crowded  platform  of  a  trolley  car, 
who  would  be  immediately  suspected  when  some 
proletarian  raised  a  cry  of  sneak  thief  and  sought 
in  vain  for  a  stick  pin,  watch,  or  wallet. 

"  Stromberg  may  or  may  not  be  guilty,"  said 
Lanagan,  "  but  I  don't  think  much  of  the  case  the 
police  have  made  against  him.  It,  at  least,  doesn't 
bar  us  from  another  line  of  speculation. 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      157 

"  Tell  me,  for  instance,  why  in  the  name  of  the 
Seven  Suns,  didn't  some  of  you  sleuths  go  off  on 
the  theory  that  whoever  committed  that  crime  got 
into  the  office  earlier  in  the  evening  and  remained 
concealed  in  the  closet  until  Monteagle  came  in? 
It  would  have  been  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world 
to  have  decoyed  Monteagle  to  his  office  even  if  it 
wasn't  known  that  he  was  working  nights  to  make 
up  for  the  lunches  and  bachelor  dinners  and  after 
noon  teas  that  he's  been  going  to  on  account  of  his 
coming  marriage. 

"  And  as  for  whoever  committed  the  murder  get 
ting  out,  you  have  been  on  the  scene  of  too  many 
murders  not  to  know  the  hysteria  that  comes  over 
a  bunch  of  yaps  like  that.  It's  a  safe  bet  they  all 
ran  for  a  regular  policeman,  and  that  whoever  was 
in  that  room  —  provided  he  was  still  there,  or  she 
—  when  the  crime  was  discovered  could  have 
walked  out  of  that  building  with  a  fair  way  as  wide 
as  Market  Street." 

"  Murray  ran  for  a  policeman,"  I  admitted,  "  and 
some  of  the  janitors  with  him." 

"  That's  what  special  cops  usually  do,"  was  Lan- 
agan's  comment.  "And  it's  a  safe  bet  that  those 
square-head  janitors  all  ran  with  him.  They  didn't 
stay  around  those  corridors  alone  after  that  crime 
was  discovered  until  a  regular  copper  came  along. 
I've  seen  the  thing  happen  and  so  has  every  police 
reporter  in  the  business." 

Lanagan    paused,    pushed   back    a    half-drained 


158  LANAGAN 

suisses  and  called  for  a  sweet  soda  —  his  curious 
habit  when  breaking  off  a  "  lapse." 

"  Whoever  killed  Monteagle,"  he  continued, 
"  was  in  that  room  when  he  entered  —  always  as 
suming,  of  course,  that  it  was  not  Stromberg. 

"  Now  I  have  something  additional,  through  the 
King  and  his  invaluable  sources  of  information  on 
men  and  affairs.  It  is  this :  Monteagle  is  known  to 
certain  portions  of  the  night  life.  He  was  a  two- 
faced  society  blatherskite,  with  a  broad  streak  of 
primal  vulgarity,  who  drank  tea  in  swagger  draw 
ing-rooms  with  his  fiancee  and  her  friends  in  the 
afternoon  and  champagne  with  an  entirely  different 
social  set  after  midnight.  You  know  the  kind. 
Was  rather  keen  about  women  in  an  underhanded, 
quiet  way.  It  is  not  difficult  for  a  man  of  his  means 
to  do  a  lot  of  things  behind  the  unassailable  French 
restaurant  walls  and  get  by  with  it. 

"  You  recall  the  knife  was  drawn  neatly  across 
both  cheeks.  I  see  you  indulged  in  a  theory  that 
he  possibly  was  the  victim  of  some  blackmail  broth 
erhood.  You  even  hinted  at  the  Mafia.  I  am  sur 
prised  at  you.  You  ought  to  let  that  exaggerated 
institution  rest  for  a  while.  I  have  a  little  theory 
of  my  own  on  that  knifing  business,  which,  I  think, 
we  will  now  work  upon.  'Phone  Sampson  when 
you  get  a  chance  that  it  pleases  Lanagan  to  go  to 
work  for  his  sweat-shop  wages  again." 

We  parted  company  with  Monahan  after  he  had 
promised  Lanagan  to  drift  through  his  particular 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      159 

world  —  or  that  portion  of  it  which  was  then  up  — 
and  endeavour  to  learn  something  of  the  identity 
of  any  of  Monteagle's  affiliations  under  the  rose. 

We  headed  for  the  Sutton  Building,  and  in  the 
lobby  found  Murray,  just  coming  on  duty. 

"  Do  you  think  anyone  could  have  gotten  out  of 
that  room  in  the  excitement  after  you  found  the 
body  ?  "  asked  Lanagan. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Murray,  with  aged  preciseness. 
"  I  locked  the  door  on  the  outside  when  I  went  for 
an  officer,  and  it  could  not  have  been  opened,  be 
cause  in  my  hurry  I  left  my  master's  key  turned  in 
the  lock  when  I  went  for  a  policeman." 

So  much  for  Lanagan's  very  plausible  theory  of 
the  "  get-away."  He  came  up  from  it  as  suave  as 
ever  and  asked: 

"  Could  anyone  have  been  in  that  room  before 
Monteagle  came  in,  do  you  suppose?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Murray,  with  the  didacticism  of 
the  aged  again.  "  No,  sir.  There  was  nobody  in 
that  room.  I  know  because  the  elevator  boy,  Denny, 
heard  the  telephone  bell  ringing  for  eight  or  ten 
times,  and  finally  let  himself  in  and  answered  it, 
but  the  party  hung  up.  Mr.  Monteagle  was  very 
free  and  easy  with  us  men,  which  accounts  for 
Denny  taking  the  liberty.  There  was  nobody  in 
that  room  when  Denny  was  in  there,  and  that  was 
well  after  eight  o'clock,  after  I  came  on  duty.  It 
all  gets  me,  sir,  how  that  knife  sticker  got  into  that 
room  or  how  he  got  out  after  he  got  there.  I  don't 


160  LANAGAN 

like  to  think  Ole  Stromberg  had  a  hand  in  it,  but 
it  looks  a  leetle  black  for  Ole,  according  to  the  pa 
pers.  I  know  my  skirts  are  clear." 

We  went  on  up  to  the  room.  The  Public  Ad 
ministrator,  with  Monteagle's  lawyer  and  his  sten 
ographer,  was  there.  The  lawyer  was  inclined  to 
get  forward,  but  the  Administrator  was  a  good  pro- 
gramer  for  a  newspaper  man  and  smoothed  mat 
ters  over.  Lanagan  was  studying  the  stenographer : 
intelligent  of  feature,  stylishly  but  plainly  dressed, 
and  bearing  about  her  eyes  and  mouth  very  plain 
indications  of  the  nervous  tension  under  which  she 
must  have  laboured  during  the  last  three  days.  She 
was  one  of  that  type  of  well-poised  secretary-sten 
ographers  found  in  most  large  offices. 

Lanagan  made  an  opportunity  of  asking  her: 

"  Did  Mr.  Monteagle  have  any  enemies  that  you 
know  of?  Persons  who  have  threatened  him  per 
sonally,  by  letter  or  over  the  'phone?  " 

"  None  that  I  know  of,"  she  replied  quietly. 

"  Do  you  think,"  asked  Lanagan  quickly,  eying 
the  girl  narrowly  with  those  singularly  penetrating 
eyes  of  his,  "  do  you  think  it  could  have  been  possi 
ble  that  a  person  might  have  been  concealed  in  that 
closet  when  you  locked  the  office  door  for  the 
night?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  answered  quickly,  but  her  eyes 
involuntarily  swept  first  to  the  closet  and  then  to 
Lanagan's  face  as  though  in  secret,  anxious  ques 
tioning.  "  Why,  It  makes  me  shiver  even  to  think 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      161 

such  a  thing  could  have  happened,"  she  added,  and 
she  unmistakably  shivered  a  little. 

There  was  more  conversation,  and  Lanagan  fell 
to  examining  the  room.  He  first  examined  the 
closet.  Then  he  opened  the  window  and  scrutin 
ised  the  sill  for  a  long  time.  He  got  down  on  his 
knees  and  peered  beneath  the  heat  radiator  of  coiled 
pipes.  He  lit  a  match,  the  space  between  the  bot 
tom  of  the  radiator  and  the  floor  being  so  slight 
that  he  could  not  examine  it  as  closely  as  he  seemed 
to  want  to. 

"  Expect  your  man  to  get  into  the  room  through 
that  ?  "  asked  the  Public  Administrator  with  heavy 
facetiousness. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Lanagan  smoothly;  "it's  just 
possible  he  got  out  of  the  room  through  it,  though," 
and  continued  with  his  minute  examination. 

The  stenographer,  Grace  Northrup  by  name,  al 
though  assisting  the  other  two  sorting  out  papers, 
found  time  each  moment  to  flash  a  quick  glance  at 
Lanagan.  Whether  it  was  merely  active  feminine 
curiosity  I  could  not  determine.  As  for  me,  I  had 
been  over  the  room  half  a  dozen  times  already. 
It  held  nothing  further  for  me;  but  I  never  could 
even  guess  at  the  clues  Lanagan  might  turn  up  on 
a  trail  that  a  dozen  men  had -tramped  over,  so  I  re 
mained  to  see  him  work  with  keen  interest.  When 
Lanagan  had  finished  we  left. 

"  Now,  Norrie,  my  boy,  to  the  Bush  Street  office 
of  the  telephone  company,"  he  said  with  as  much 


162  LANAGAN 

enthusiasm  as  I  ever  saw  him  exhibit.  "You  are 
a  fine  old  blunderbuss  for  fair!  But  the  others 
aren't  any  better.  Plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face ! 
Lord,  Lord ! "  He  stopped  and  looked  at  me, 
laughing  immoderately.  I  was  inclined  to  be  a 
trifle  sulky ;  he  made  me  feel  like  a  six-dollar  cub. 

"  Only,"  he  continued,  "  it's  a  three  days'  trail 
that  I  have  taken  up,  and  that  dirk  wielder  has  got 
just  that  much  of  a  start  —  always  assuming,  for 
the  sake  of  the  argument,  that  it  was  not  Strom- 
berg." 

I  didn't  ask  him  what  he  was  going  to  the  tele 
phone  office  for;  it  came  to  me  with  a  sting  that  I 
had  heard  that  same  bit  of  information  about  the 
telephoning  dropped  during  the  last  two  or  three 
days,  and,  in  the  press  of  clues  that  I  considered 
more  important,  had  dismissed  it.  Which  was  the 
difference  between  Jack  Lanagan  and  the  rest  of  us ; 
he  had  that  intuitive  faculty  of  eliminating  the  su 
perfluous  and  driving  at  the  main  fact.  It  is,  after 
all,  a  faculty  found  in  all  successful  men  of  what 
ever  occupation. 

We  both  knew  Lamb,  traffic  manager  of  the 
'phone  company.  Lanagan  asked  for  permission 
to  talk  with  the  girl  who  on  Monday  night  handled 
the  board  having  Bush  1243  —  Monteagle's  num 
ber.  Lamb  was  a  substantial  chap,  and  promised 
to  keep  our  visit  in  confidence.  It  was  just  before 
4  o'clock,  and  the  4  to  10  shift  of  girls  was  coming 
on.  In  a  few  moments  a  young  girl  of  sensible, 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      163 

pleasant  demeanour  was  shown  to  the  room,  and 
Lamb  retired  after  requesting  that  she  give  us  all 
the  information  she  might  have  on  whatever  sub 
jects  we  discussed. 

"  You  will  be  performing  a  service  that  will  be 
appreciated,"  said  Lanagan,  "  if  you  could  recall 
whether  on  Monday  evening,  along  about  8  o'clock, 
you  had  several  calls  for  Bush  1243?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do,"  she  instantly  answered.  "  It 
was  not  a  busy  night  and  I  was  handling  three  po 
sitions.  The  call  came  from  the  east  office.  We 
do  not  talk  to  the  party  direct  on  an  outside  call, 
and  east  supervisor  came  on  the  line  several  times 
to  instruct  me  to  try  and  raise  the  number.  That 
is  how  I  recall  it  so  distinctly." 

"  I  may  tell  you  that  that  is  the  telephone  number 
of  the  office  of  Mr.  Monteagle,  who  was  murdered," 
said  Lanagan.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  got  a 
line  on  whom  his  telephone  calls  might  be  from  as 
a  general  thing,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  she  answered  primly.  "  I  pay  no  at 
tention  to  whom  is  on  a  line." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lanagan.  "  I  think  you  can 
be  trusted  not  to  say  anything  about  our  visit  or 
questions  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  said. 

We  got  a  card  of  introduction  from  Lamb  to 
Adams,  manager  of  east  office,  and  hurried  there. 

"  Wasn't  that  rather  an  indiscreet  thing  to  do, 
tell  her  Monteagle's  number?  "  I  suggested.  Lana- 


164  LANAGAN 

gan  laughed  and  slapped  me  on  the  back.  It  was 
evident  he  was  in  high  feather  with  himself.  I 
was  trundling  along,  absolutely  in  the  dark. 

"  My  dear  Norrie,  when  you  meet  a  girl  like  that 
take  her  into  your  confidence.  Did  you  get  that 
'  to  whom '  ?  She  smelt  a  rat  and  would  have 
looked  the  number  up  and  blown  the  glad  tidings 
all  over  the  office  that  a  couple  of  detectives  or 
newspaper  men  had  been  interviewing  her  on  the 
murder.  Recollect,  too,  that  the  telephone  from 
the  reporters'  room  at  police  headquarters  comes 
in  on  this  exchange.  It's  just  possible  that  some 
of  those  gay  young  blades  on  night  police  have  af 
filiations  with  some  of  these  gay  young  blondes.  I 
have  got  many  a  story  through  'phone  girls  —  and 
have  occasionally  lost  a  story  through  the  same  me 
dium.  Get  me?  As  it  stands,  she  is  all  puffed  up 
with  her  own  importance  and  pat  with  us.  There 
are  times  when  you  have  got  to  take  a  chance  at 
spilling  your  hand.  This  was  one  of  them."  I 
subsided,  humbled. 

Not  to  occupy  too  much  space  with  the  merely 
routine  details  of  working  out  the  clue,  we  met 
Adams,  another  substantial  chap.  The  chief  oper 
ator  recalled  distinctly  the  number,  more  particu 
larly  because  the  woman  calling  it  had  been  nervous 
and  irritable.  The  call  came,  she  said,  from  the 
public  booth  at  Shumate's  pharmacy.  It  was  only 
a  couple  of  blocks  away,  and  we  went  there. 

It  was  a  large  establishment  with  half  a  dozen 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      165 

clerks.  We  worked  down  the  list.  The  fourth 
man  had  been  on  duty  Monday  night  and  recalled 
a  young  woman  who  had  entered  the  booth  repeat 
edly  on  that  evening.  She  lived  some  place  in  the 
vicinity,  he  said,  and  usually  got  off  the  Sutter 
Street  car  shortly  after  5.30  o'clock.  The  car 
stopped  directly  in  front  of  the  door,  and  if  we 
would  wait  he  would  point  her  out  to  us  if  she 
came  that  way  this  evening. 

I  took  a  position  outside  to  signal  in  when  a  car 
approached  and  Lanagan  remained  inside.  It  was 
then  just  after  five. 

Among  the  passengers  from  one  car  I  noticed 
Miss  Northrup,  and  was  about  to  step  forward  and 
speak  to  her  on  a  chance  of  her  dropping  something 
additional  when  I  caught  a  glimpse  out  of  the  tail 
of  my  eye  of  Lanagan  signaling  me  with  a  swift 
gesture.  I  dodged  around  the  corner  before  she 
saw  me.  She  passed  on  up  Sutter  Street,  and  in  a 
few  moments  Lanagan  picked  me  up,  his  sallow 
face  taking  on  a  tinge  of  colour  and  his  dark  eyes 
sparkling. 

"  Pretty  near  scrambled  the  eggs  that  time,  didn't 
you  ?  "  he  chuckled.  "  That's  the  woman  who  did 
the  telephoning" 

I  stared. 

"  Do  you  recall  that  furtive  look  with  which 
she  followed  me  at  the  office?  She  lives  just  up 
there,  where  we  will  let  her  rest  for  a  time  with 
her  troubles.  And  I  fancy  she  has  them.  Let  us 


i66  LANAGAN 

go  back  to  Connors'.  I  am  to  meet  Monahan 
there." 

The  King  was  waiting  for  us.  He  took  Lana- 
gan  to  one  side.  All  I  could  hear  was  Lanagan's 
"  Good !  "  once,  and  then  the  King  had  slipped  out 
the  side  door. 

"  Best  single  asset  the  police  have  is  Monahan," 
said  Lanagan,  apropos  of  nothing  in  particular. 
"  Knows  more  about  the  night  life  of  this  city  than 
any  four  men  in  it.  But  he  tips  nothing  that  might 
hurt  his  own  game  or  his  own  people.  In  a  way 
he  preserves  a  certain  code  even  while  acting  as  a 
police  '  stool.'  In  this  matter,  however,  the  in 
valuable  Mr.  Monahan  is  working  for  Jack  Lana 
gan;  and  the  police  are  consequently  about  three 
laps  behind. 

"  I  see  nothing  in  sight  for  some  hours.  We 
will  eat  our  dinner  and  take  in  a  show  for  a  few 
moments.  I  rather  anticipate  a  climax  later  and 
some  rapid-fire  work  for  us  both  on  the  typewriter. 
I  need  a  little  stimulus  —  that  hasn't  got  wormwood 
in  it." 

He  would  give  me  absolutely  not  a  line  on  his 
"  lay."  He  could  be  a  baffling,  enigmatic,  imper 
sonal  proposition  when  he  took  the  humour. 

We  headed  for  the  Oyster  Loaf,  and  I  groaned 
for  the  four  and  a  half  that  was  between  me  and 
pay  day  as  Lanagan  methodically  disposed  of  an 
onion  soup,  special;  French  mushrooms  on  toast, 
a  New  York  cut,  Gorgonzola,  and  a  two-bit  cigar. 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      167 

He  drank  three  glasses  of  ice  water,  but  that  didn't 
cost  anything. 

"  A  man's  meal,"  he  said  with  vast  creature  con 
tent.  "  Now  give  me  that  other  half  you  have 
left.  I  want  a  shave.  You  go  up  and  touch  Dan 
for  a  five-spot.  We  may  need  expenses  later.  I'll 
meet  you  at  Dan's  at  nine  o'clock.  I  want  to  pick 
Monahan  up  again  before  I  see  you,  and  also  see 
Leslie." 

At  the  time  appointed  we  met.  "Let's  take  a 
ten-twenty-thirty,"  suggested  Lanagan.  "  By  half- 
past  ten  we  will  have  to  get  busy.  There's  a  singer 
over  at  the  Continental  that  some  of  the  dramatic 
critics  say  has  real  fire.  La  Pattini,  I  think  she  is 
called."  ' 

So  we  drifted  into  the  Continental  and  caught 
part  of  the  performance.  There  were  trained  birds 
of  more  than  ordinary  sagacity;  the  stereotyped 
and  fearful  cornet  soloist;  the  girl  singer,  La  Pat 
tini,  with  a  wonderful  mezzo,  remarkable  beauty, 
an  undoubted  future,  and  an  ability  to  sing  the 
"  Rosary  "  in  a  manner  to  bring  tears.  Then  came 
a  slap-stick  tumbling  act  that  was  impossible,  and 
we  left. 

Lanagan  had  suddenly  become  thoughtful.  "  Do 
you  know  what  I  think?"  he  said.  "I  think  the 
world  would  actually  do  better  to  sweep  away  every 
vestige  of  law  and  ordinance  and  make  a  clean  start 
again.  Our  system  of  punishment  is  all  wrong. 
Take  one  heinous  class  of  crimes;  we  punish  the 


i68  LANAGAN 

individual  who  takes  upon  herself  to  punish.  We 
say  the  State  has  the  power  of  punishment  and  the 
prerogative ;  and  yet  in  the  very  crimes  that  are  the 
most  damnable,  the  State  can  never  interfere  be 
cause  the  injured  party  must  suffer  in  silence.  You 
might  as  well  expect  children  to  learn  English 
through  hieroglyphics  as  to  make  applicable  to  pres 
ent-day  conditions  the  antiquated  penal  code  to 
which  society  is  harnessed.  That's  about  enough 
of  the  sermon  stuff.  It's  not  in  my  line." 

Lanagan  was  taking  the  lead,  but  I  was  not  alto 
gether  surprised  when  we  finally  found  ourselves 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Northrup  home.  Nor 
was  I  altogether  surprised  when  Chief  Leslie,  that 
shrewd  and  veteran  thief-taker,  suddenly  stepped 
from  a  doorway.  My  mind  shot  ahead  to  the 
Northrup  home,  a  few  doors  away,  and  I  could  not 
bring  myself  to  believe  it  could  be  possible  that 
she  was  a  principal. 

"  Brady  is  above,"  said  Leslie.  "  He  says  she 
came  in  about  twenty  minutes  ago.  We  had  better 
move  on  her." 

"  Immediately,"  said  Lanagan,  and  in  a  moment 
more  we  were  all  three  before  the  door  to  a  lower 
flat  of  the  old-fashioned  sort,  with  a  bell  jangling 
noisily  as  Lanagan  pulled  out  the  handle. 

It  was  Miss  Northrup  .who  answered  the  ring. 
She  had  on  a  dressing  gown,  and  her  hair,  I  could 
see,  had  been  taken  down  for  retiring  and  then 
gathered  in  a  loose  coil  on  her  head,  probably  when 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      169 

the  bell  rang.  She  opened  the  door  but  a  few 
inches. 

"  We  would  like  to  speak  with  you  a  moment, 
Miss  Northrup,"  said  Lanagan.  He  indicated  the 
chief.  "  This  is  Chief  Leslie." 

"  Kindly  permit  us  to  enter,"  said  the  chief. 
There  was  a  shadow  of  authority  in  his  tone,  and 
I  knew  that  Lanagan  and  the  chief  were  planning 
a  drive  on  the  girl  and  that  something  would  be 
stirring  in  this  old-fashioned  flat  before  long.  She 
hesitated  a  moment  and  then  threw  the  door  wide 
open  and  motioned  us  into  the  parlour.  In  the  hall 
a  gas  jet  burned  dimly,  as  though  for  some  mem 
ber  of  the  family  who  was  not  yet  home. 

She  reached  up  and  turned  on  the  parlour  light, 
and  as  she  did  so  her  loosely  coiled  hair  tumbled 
about  her  shoulders.  As  the  light  struck  down 
upon  her  features  they  had  an  appearance  almost 
tragic. 

"  Be  seated,"  she  said ;  it  needed  no  expert  eye 
to  detect  in  her  drawn  lips  the  evidence  of  nervous 
tension. 

"  Madam,"  said  Leslie  abruptly,  snapping  his 
jaws  like  a  trap  —  and  I  knew  this  twenty-year-old 
girl  was  in  for  the  third  degree  — "  unless  you  at 
this  time  make  a  clean  breast  of  all  that  you  know 
concerning  the  murder  of  your  employer,  Ralph 
Monteagle,  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  book  you 
for  murder  as  an  accessory  before  the  fact." 

She  started  violently;  her  bosom  began  to  rise 


170  LANAGAN 

and  fall  quickly;  it  was  evident  a  breakdown  was 
imminent,  but  she  managed  to  say  with  considera 
ble  smoothness : 

"  I  know  nothing  more  than  I  have  already  told 
the  police  and  the  reporters." 

Lanagan,  fierce  eagerness  glittering  in  his  eyes, 
stepped  before  her. 

"  Nevertheless,  possibly  you  know,"  he  said,  bit 
ing  each  word  off  short,  "  how  many  persons  beside 
yourself  and  Bartlett,  Monteagle's  former  chauf 
feur,  who  bought  it,  knew  of  the  rope  in  his  closet; 
knew  that  Monteagle  had  a  morbid  fear  of  being 
trapped  in  that  building  at  night  by  fire;  that  he 
had  had  that  fear  since  his  friend  Mervin  was 
burned  to  death  in  the  Baldwin  Hotel  fire;  that  he 
let  no  one  know  about  the  rope  for  fear  of  being 
ridiculed  ?  How  many  persons,  I  say,  besides  your 
self  and  Bartlett,  knew  the  rope  was  there?  And 
when  you  knew  that  that  rope  had  disappeared,  as 
you  must  have  known  it,  why  didn't  you  tell  the 
police?  Why  did  you  permit  a  man  to  lie  in  prison 
whom  you  in  your  heart  feel  is  innocent?  " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  threw  both  hands 
towards  him  as  though  warding  off  physical  blows. 
She  was  trembling  in  intense  agitation. 

"Don't!  Don't!  for  God's  sake,  don't!" 

She  sank  back  again  into  her  chair,  her  face  buried 
in  her  hands,  rocking  and  moaning,  with  Lanagan 
standing  over  her,  inexorable  as  Nemesis. 

There  was  the  sound  of  quick,  light  running  up 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      171 

the  front  stairs,  a  key  was  turned  in  the  lock,  the 
front  door  swung  open,  and  the  girl  in  the  chair, 
startled  from  her  huddled  misery,  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  fairly  leaped  to  meet  the  newcomer.  She 
cried  out,  but  whether  in  warning  or  in  the  joy  of 
greeting  could  not  be  said,  for  her  voice  was  half- 
smothered  in  a  sob. 

"  Sister !  "  she  said  at  last  f alteringly.  "  Sister, 
please  go  to  your  room.  It  is  only  some  more  po 
licemen  about  Mr.  Monteagle !  "  The  words  came 
chokingly.  The  other  had  not  as  yet  come  into  our 
sight,  but  now  she  stepped  into  the  light  that 
streamed  from  the  parlour  into  the  hall  —  and  I 
heard  Lanagan's  swift,  involuntary  ejaculation: 

"  La  Pattini!    Her  sister! " 

Leslie,  swift  as  thought,  was  half-across  the  par 
lour  floor  to  the  hall,  yielding  to  a  natural  police  im 
pulse,  but  the  newcomer,  the  other  girl  clinging  to 
her,  stepped  fully  into  the  doorway  to  the  parlour. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  had  no  tremour  of 
emotion,  "La  Pattini.  Her  sister.  Why?" 

"  Why  ? "  said  Leslie,  grimly.  "  Because  we 
were  just  going  to  book  her  for  murder  as  an  ac 
cessory  before  the  fact.  We  will  switch  the  cut 
now  and  book  you  as  the  principal." 

At  the  feet  of  the  queenly  Pattini  the  harassed 
sister  swooned.  Lanagan  pulled  shut  the  door 
leading  to  the  hall  so  that  no  one  might  by  any 
mischance  disturb  us,  and  I  fell  to  chafing  the 
wrists  of  the  senseless  girl. 


172  LANAGAN 

La  Pattini  sank  wearily  to  a  chair,  stooping  so 
that  she  could  stroke  her  sister's  temples. 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  over,"  she  said,  apathetically. 
"  I  have  only  wondered  that  it  did  not  come  sooner. 
I  have  expected  it  hourly." 

The  story  was  soon  told:  simple,  age-old,  but 
ever  new,  sordid  possibly  to  a  slight  degree,  but 
profoundly  sad.  She  who  was  now  known  as  La 
Pattini  met  Monteagle  while  visiting  her  sister  at 
his  office.  He  had  found  means  to  extend  the  ac 
quaintance,  had  aided  her  in  a  secret  way  in  her 
ambitions  for  the  stage,  securing  the  engagement 
at  the  Continental  for  her,  and  as  a  result  of  the 
clandestine  relation  there  had  been  a  promise  of 
marriage.  Then  had  come  the  engagement  an 
nouncement  of  the  Dennison-Monteagle  marriage 
and  the  awakening  of  the  dupe.  But  this  was  not 
the  dupe  of  Monteagle's  many  experiences.  The 
picture  of  Miss  Dennison,  staring  at  her  from  the 
society  columns,  had  fired  a  sinister  jealousy. 

A  confession  had  been  made  to  the  younger  sis 
ter  when  La  Pattini  sought  an  opportunity  of  plead 
ing  once  again  alone  with  Monteagle,  who  had 
finally  repudiated  her.  The  sister  had  admitted 
her  to  the  office  after  Monteagle  left  for  the  after 
noon,  knowing  he  was  to  return  in  the  evening. 
She  concealed  herself  in  the  closet. 

Before  she  entered  the  office  her  plan  had  been 
formed.  Either  Monteagle  would  marry  her  or  he 
should  die.  At  that  time  she  had  no  thought  of 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      173 

escaping.  She  had  heard  the  telephone  ringing  re 
peatedly;  heard  the  elevator  boy  enter  the  room 
just  too  late  to  get  the  party  calling. 

Finally  Monteagle  had  arrived  and  she  had  dis 
covered  herself.  What  happened  was  quickly 
over.  The  quarrel  was  of  few  words,  and  he  had 
struck  her  with  his  fist.  She  stabbed  him  to  the 
heart,  and  then  with  a  vindictiveness  that  she  could 
not  now  understand  and  shuddered  at  recalling  had 
marred  his  features  with  the  knife.  Her  first 
thought  had  been  to  give  herself  up.  Then  she 
wondered  why  she  should  do  that.  The  brief 
words  of  their  quarrel  had  not  been  heard;  the 
janitor  she  could  hear  on  the  floor  above.  After 
all,  she  had  done  no  more  than  kill  a  snake. 

The  thought  of  the  rope  came  to  her.  She  knew 
about  it,  because  once  when  she  was  in  the  office 
as  Monteagle  worked  late  she  had  expressed 
anxiety  at  being  seen  coming  from  the  building 
with  him,  and  he  had  showed  her  the  rope  and 
jokingly  offered  to  let  her  down  from  the  window, 
which  opened  upon  a  divisional  alley  in  the  rear 
of  the  Sutton  building. 

The  rope  was  of  great  length.  Seeking  for  a 
place  to  tie  it,  she  naturally  turned  to  the  radiator. 
The  thought  occurred  to  her  with  a  flash  her  means 
of  escape  from  the  room  might  never  be  known 
if  the  rope  was  long  enough  to  run  under  the  radia 
tor,  letting  both  ends  to  the  ground.  She  could 
then  draw  it  down  after  she  reached  the  ground 


174  LANAGAN 

by  pulling  on  one  end  and  letting  it  run  under  the 
radiator  like  a  pulley.  She  tried  the  length,  the 
light  from  the  windows  of  the  elevator  shaft,  open 
ing  into  the  areaway,  giving  sufficient  brightness. 

"  As  part  of  the  preparation  for  the  future  on 
the  stage  that  Mr.  Monteagle  was  to  help  me  get," 
she  said,  dispassionately,  "  I  have  taken  gymna 
sium  work  to  build  up  my  system.  You  can  see  it 
was  no  extraordinary  thing  for  me  to  let  myself 
down  by  the  double  rope,  pulling  the  window  shut 
after  I  climbed  out.  I  left  it  open  enough  so  that 
the  rope  could  run  free  when  I  pulled  it  after  me. 
I  threw  the  rope  in  a  street  garbage  tin.  I  was 
at  the  theatre,  remarkable  as  it  may  seem,  in  time 
for  my  act  at  ten  o'clock,  although  I  missed  the 
first  show.  I  have  been  in  a  daze  since;  I  was  in 
a  trance  after  I  did  the  stabbing.  I  have  known 
I  must  be  found  out.  I  am  glad  that  it  is  all  over. 
I  have  made  no  attempt  to  escape.  I  am  ab 
solutely  indifferent  to  my  fate." 

The  sister,  recovered  from  her  swoon,  was  weep 
ing  softly,  her  head  bowed  in  the  other's  lap. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Lanagan  curiously  to  her, 
"  why  did  you  telephone  to  Monteagle?  " 

She  gasped,  and  it  appeared  for  the  moment  that 
she  was  about  to  swoon  again.  Finally  she  fal 
tered,  while  her  own  sister  looked  at  her  strangely: 

"I  —  was  afraid  sister  meant  him  harm  —  I 
didn't  think  of  it  until  I  got  home  —  and  then 
something  about  her  face  came  back  to  me--— I 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      175 

wanted  to  warn  Mr.  Monteagle  not  to  arouse  her 
—  I  finally  succeeded  in  getting  him  at  his  club 
before  he  left  for  his  office  and  —  he  only 
laughed  — " 

"Yes,"  said  La  Pattini  bitterly,  "he  told  me 
so  —  and  laughed  —  and  snapped  his  fingers  when 
he  spoke  about  you  —  that  was  just  before  he 
struck  me  ...  and  then  I  killed  him." 

The  sudden  fresh  sobs  of  the  younger  girl, 
smothered  as  they  were  in  her  sister's  lap,  seemed 
to  wrench  her  very  being.  Lanagan  glanced  at 
Leslie;  Leslie  averted  his  eyes.  There  was  a  pro 
longed  pause,  broken  only  by  the  agonised,  stifled 
sobbing,  while  she  of  crime  threw  her  arms  shelter- 
ingly  around  the  weaker  vessel.  But  her  own 
deathly  calm  she  preserved. 

Finally  Leslie  arose  slowly  and  said  simply: 

"  I  am  sorry.  I  have  no  recourse.  My  duty  is 
clear." 

"  So  is  mine,"  said  Lanagan  quickly,  "  and  it  is 
this :  I  will  guarantee  you,  Miss  Northrup,  the  sup 
port  of  the  Enquirer,  and  I  will  secure  for  you  as 
counsel  my  personal  friend,  Mr.  William  Hadden, 
the  ablest  man  in  the  West,  to  present  your  case  to 
a  jury  in  the  proper  manner  to  secure  the  acquittal 
that  you  are  entitled  to." 

It  was  then  after  one  o'clock.  We  left  Leslie 
at  the  house  to  bring  the  girl  to  the  city  prison  after 
she  had  an  opportunity  of  parting  from  her  family. 
Leslie  was  to  contrive  not  to  book  her  before  half- 


176  LANAGAN 

past  two  to  save  our  "  exclusive."  By  that  time 
the  Times  and  the  Herald  would  be  gone  to  press. 
On  our  hurried  trip  to  the  office  —  where  I  took 
vast  delight  marching  in  on  Sampson  with  a  grin 
—  Lanagan  supplied  me  with  the  missing  links. 
He  spoke  of  finding  a  few  strands  from  a  manila 
rope  sticking  beneath  the  radiator  and  of  his  in 
stant  surmise  as  to  the  precise  way  in  which  the 
escape  had  been  made.  Monahan  located  Bartlett, 
Monteagle's  former  chauffeur,  who  had  taken  a 
public  stand,  and  from  him  learned  of  the  rope 
that  Monteagle  had  in  his  closet  which  Bartlett  had 
bought.  Lanagan  knew  from  his  careful  search 
that  the  rope  was  not  in  the  closet  when  he  made 
his  examination,  and  he  promptly  concluded  that 
Miss  Grace  Northrup  must  have  known  who  com 
mitted  the  crime.  She  knew  the  rope  was  there, 
according  to  Bartlett,  and  Lanagan  rightly  surmised 
that  she  must  have  known  of  its  disappearance. 

Robbery  not  having  been  the  motive,  Lanagan 
had  "  rapped  "  to  the  theory  of  a  jealous  or  venge 
ful  woman  who  had  deliberately  marred  the  fea 
tures  after  death.  His  police  experience  had  in 
cluded  a  case  or  two  where  somewhat  similar  con 
ditions  had  been  present. 

It  was  from  Bartlett  that  the  first  tip  came  on 
La  Pattini,  although  he  did  not  know,  and  neither 
did  Lanagan  at  that  time,  that  she  was  the  sister 
of  Monteagle's  stenographer.  All  he  knew  was 
that  until  he  left  Monteagle's  employ  she  seemed 


WHATSOEVER  A  MAN  SOWETH      177 

to  be  the  favoured  of  the  alliances  that  the  broker 
secretly  maintained. 

Lanagan  had  discovered  that  La  Pattini  had 
missed  her  first  show  on  Monday  night,  and  the 
circumstance  was  sufficient  to  stir  his  suspicions, 
although  it  must  be  confessed  that  until  the  de 
velopment  at  the  home,  where  her  relationship  to 
Miss  Northrup  was  disclosed,  nothing  positive  had 
been  secured  against  her.  The  moment  the  rela 
tionship  was  made  clear,  both  Lanagan  and  the 
chief  had  instantly  reached  the  same  conclusion. 
The  "  drive  "  had  been  made  and  the  confession 
followed. 

"  Great,  Jack,  great,"  said  Sampson  with  as  much 
enthusiasm  as  his  thin  blood  could  support.  "  Gad ! 
What  a  whaling  we  gave  them!  What  a  whal 
ing!" 

The  Enquirer  had  smeared  the  story  over  three 
pages,  breaking  all  make-up  rules  on  type  display. 
It  was  a  clean  exclusive  in  every  detail. 

"  Well,  Sampson,"  replied  Lanagan,  "  it  isn't 
much  to  be  proud  of  at  that.  Only  it's  all  in  our 
game.  But  I've  given  my  promise  and  we've  got 
to  get  that  girl  acquitted." 

"  That's  up  to  you,"  said  Sampson.  "  The 
paper's  yours." 


VII 
THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY 


VII 
THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY 

44  T  HAVE  always  considered  Bannerman,"  said 

J.     Jack  Lanagan,  deliberately,  "  the  crookedest 

judge  that  ever  sat  on  the  bench  in  San  Francisco." 

Attorney  Haddon,  distinguished  in  criminal  prac 
tice,  thumped  his  office  table. 

"  Exactly,"  he  said.  "  Have  felt  that  way  about 
it  myself.  But  he  seems  to  have  a  hold  on  the 
people.  And  he  makes  capital  out  of  the  fact  that 
he  ever  permits  a  '  shyster  '  lawyer  to  practise  in  his 
court." 

"  Simple,"  replied  Lanagan.  "  He  doesn't  have 
to.  He  does  business  with  Fogarty  direct.  They 
take  dinner  two  or  three  times  a  week  at  the  St. 
Germain.  Other  times  they  use  the  telephone. 
Those  are  things  people  don't  know.  There  aren't 
many  who  do  outside  of  myself.  But  at  that  I  sup 
pose  he  might  get  by  with  the  long-eared  public  with 
the  explanation  that  '  Billy '  Fogarty,  bail-bond 
grafter  and  chief  of  the  '  shysters,'  was  a  schoolmate 
of  his,  raised  on  the  same  street,  and  a  member  of 
one  or  two  fraternal  organisations  with  him.  All  of 
which  is  true. 

"  Bannerman,"  he  continued,  "  doesn't  bother  with 
small  cases.  He's  after  the  big  stuff.  And  I  have 

181 


182  LANAGAN 

a  hunch  that  somewhere  back  of  this  case  there  is 
big  graft.  He  has  been  against  us  from  the  start. 
And  by  the  Lord  Harry,"  Lanagan  had  arisen,  his 
black  eyes  snapping,  "  I've  put  several  men  in  jail, 
but  here's  one  that  I'm  going  to  get  out.  Peters  no 
more  murdered  that  little  child  of  his  than  I  did. 
It's  an  absolute  obsession  with  me  that  there  is  some 
colossal  mystery  back  of  the  whole  thing;  some 
gigantic  conspiracy;  and  Bannerman's  attitude  to 
day  gives  me  the  first  direct  line  to  work  on  I  have 
had.  I  am  going  to  work  on  it  again  at  once." 

Charley  Peters,  a  machinist,  twenty-five  years  of 
age,  had  been  held  to  answer  by  Bannerman  that  day 
to  the  higher  court  on  a  charge  of  murder  for  slaying 
his  week  old  son.  It  was  a  case  that  had  attracted 
wide  attention  when  several  organisations  of 
women's  clubs  took  a  stand  against  Peters. 

He  had  married,  as  was  brought  out  at  the  pre 
liminary  hearing,  a  woman  of  the  night  life,  who 
had  made  him,  to  all  report,  a  capable  wife.  Origin 
ally  from  Oakland,  after  the  marriage  he  had  moved 
to  an  isolated  little  home  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
Potrero,  where  neither  he  nor  his  wife  were  known. 
Before  their  child  was  born  they  had  been  overheard 
by  a  passing  neighbour  in  a  violent  quarrel.  Peters 
freely  admitted  the  quarrel,  but  explained  that,  on 
the  particular  night  in  question,  he  had  been  over 
wrought  with  a  particularly  hard  day's  labour,  re 
turned  home  wearied  and  worried  to  find  a  state 
ment  from  the  doctor  for  a  large  amount,  and  for 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  183 

a  moment  had  become  resentful  at  having  another 
mouth  to  feed  with  nothing  but  debt  before  him. 
The  quarrel,  he  said,  was  quickly  made  up  and  the 
relations  of  the  two  were  happy  up  to  and  after  the 
child  was  born. 

But  the  prosecuting  attorney  had  made  great  use 
of  the  evidence,  Bannerman  ruling  consistently 
against  the  objections  of  Haddon. 

The  dead  child  had  been  found  by  a  crone,  who 
was  ministering  to  Mrs.  Peters.  She  had  placed  it  in 
a  cot  in  a  room  adjacent  to  the  mother's  room,  and 
had  left  both  mother  and  child  asleep  at  about  six- 
thirty  o'clock  while  she  went  out  to  attend  to  some 
small  purchases.  She  returned  at  about  a  quarter  to 
seven  to  find  Peters  just  home  from  his  work  and 
sitting  by  his  wife's  bed.  She  was  asleep.  It  was  not 
for  some  little  time  later  that  the  beldame,  going  to 
the  child's  cot,  discovered  that  it  was  dead.  Her  first 
suppressed  cry  had  been  heard  by  the  acute  ears  of 
the  mother,  even  in  sleep,  and  she  awakened  from 
slumber  to  call  for  her  babe.  In  the  excitement  that 
followed  with  the  husband  and  the  beldame  she  be 
came  alarmed  and,  arising,  made  her  way  to  the  ad 
joining  room  to  discover  the  dreadful  truth.  She 
sank  rapidly  after  the  shock  and  died  within  a  few 
days. 

It  was  not  until  the  doctor,  coming  on  a  call  to  at 
tend  the  mother,  examined  the  child,  that  the  marks 
of  strangulation  were  discovered  on  its  little  throat. 
The  police  were  promptly  notified.  After  one 


184  LANAGAN 

night's  detention  the  old  woman  was  freed  of  sus 
picion  and  the  police  hand  fell  on  Peters. 

He  protested  that  he  had  entered  the  house  not 
fifteen  minutes  before  the  old  woman,  had  found 
both  mother  and  babe  asleep,  as  he  supposed,  and 
had  sat  down  by  his  wife's  side  to  watch,  until  the 
nurse  returned. 

Such  were  the  principal  facts. 

Lanagan,  working  from  a  stubborn  conviction  of 
Peters'  innocence,  had  devoted  much  attention  to 
the  case.  Finally,  when  the  police  brought  Peters 
to  trial,  Lanagan  had  enlisted  the  services  of  Had- 
don  to  defend  him.  Lanagan  had  known  Haddon 
for  a  good  many  years ;  known  him  when  he  was  a 
young  prosecutor  in  the  police  courts.  He  had 
given  him  many  friendly  "  boosts  "  in  those  days. 
Haddon  had  never  forgotten.  He  was  frank  to  ad 
mit  that  it  was  the  newspaper  men  at  police  head 
quarters,  constantly  "  featuring  "  him  in  the  police 
news,  who  gave  him  his  real  start. 

After  Bannerman  had  ruled  as  a  committing 
magistrate,  binding  Peters  over  to  trial  for  murder, 
Lanagan  had  walked  to  Haddon's  office,  reviewing 
the  events  of  the  day. 

It  was  his  own  conviction,  as  well  as  that  of  Had 
don,  that  in  all  fairness,  from  the  evidence  presented, 
Bannerman  should  have  dismissed  the  charge.  That 
he  should  have  held  Peters  as  guilty  gave  Lanagan 
a  freshened  enthusiasm  in  Peters'  behalf;  because  it 
appeared  to  Lanagan  that  Bannerman  was  acting 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  185 

under  powerful  pressure  in  finding  such  a  holding, 
even  with  the  sentiment  created  by  neurotic  women 
in  favour  of  a  conviction. 

"  I'll  keep  you  posted  on  developments,"  said  Lan- 
agan,  as  he  left  Haddon's  office,  cheerfully  helping 
himself  to  a  fist-full  of  the  cigars  which  that  dis 
criminating  smoker  imported  for  his  own  use.  "  I 
may  need  your  service  later. 

"  Sampson,"  he  said  to  his  city  editor  a  few  mo 
ments  later,  "  there's  something  funny  about  that 
Peters  case,  in  spite  of  their  holding  him  to  answer. 
Haddon  thinks  as  I  do.  I'm  going  to  tackle  it 
again." 

"  Tear  into  it,  Jack,"  said  Sampson.  "  You 
haven't  turned  much  up  lately,  anyhow.  Think  you 
are  going  stale." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Lanagan  briefly. 

The  St.  Germain,  in  the  days  before  the  fire,  had 
a  public  entrance  on  Stockton  street  and  a  private 
entrance  on  O'Farrell.  Directly  across  from  the 
private  entrance  was  a  cigar  stand,  and  there  Lana 
gan  loitered  for  an  hour  or  more. 

"  If  I'm  right  in  this  thing,"  he  said,  "  Bannerman 
and  Fogarty  will  be  getting  together  to  talk  over  the 
situation.  And  if  they  do  I'll  let  them  know  pretty 
pronto  that  we  suspect  a  nigger  in  the  woodpile 
somewhere  and  see  if  I  can't  start  them  to  covering 
up  in  a  fashion  that  I  can  follow." 

It  was  about  dusk  when  he  suddenly  crossed  the 
street  and  went  in  at  the  private  door.  Fogarty 


i86  LANAGAN 

had  entered  a  few  minutes  before.  Lanagan  did 
not  worry  about  Bannerman.  He  would  take  the 
front  door,  with  his  high  silk  hat  and  his  frock  coat 
and  his  exaggerated  impeccability.  That  old  French 
restaurant  had  turned  up  more  than  one  good  story 
in  its  day,  and  the  upper  floor  steward  was  one  of 
Lanagan's  numerous  "  leaks  "  in  the  night  life  dis 
trict. 

A  dollar  to  the  steward  and  he  had  been  told  the 
number  of  the  room  where  Bannerman  was  dining. 
He  knocked  at  the  door,  as  the  waiter  might,  gently. 
It  was  Fogarty  who  half-opened  it.  Lanagan 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Bannerman,  who  passed  the 
plate  in  the  church  on  Sundays,  with  a  dry  Martini 
nicely  poised  at  his  lips.  A  champagne  cooler  stood 
comfortably  by.  Fogarty  for  a  moment  seemed 
about  to  close  the  door,  but  was  quick  witted  enough 
not  to  do  so. 

"  Want  me,  Jack  ?  "  he  asked,  suavely.  He  was 
of  the  full-fed  type  of  saloon  man,  a  sort  of  a  near- 
broker  in  appearance.  "  Come  on  in  and  join 
us." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Lanagan,  shortly.  "  Just  ate.  I 
was  curious  to  see  who  Bannerman  was  dining  with. 
That's  all." 

The  dry  Martini  struck  the  table  suddenly  and 
slopped  over.  "  What  a  miserable,  weak  sister  of  a 
crook!"  thought  Lanagan.  "I  can  admire  a  big 
crook,  but  this  breed  !  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Lanagan !  "  exclaimed  Ban- 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  187 

nerman,  coming  forward  so  hastily  his  napkin 
trailed  behind  him  from  his  collar,  where  it  had  been 
tucked.  "  I  just  met  my  old  friend  William  quite 
accidentally.  We  went  to  school  together,  you 
know.  I  seldom  see  him  nowadays." 

To  hear  the  notorious  "  Billy "  Fogarty  called 
William  made  Lanagan  smile.  Fogarty  himself 
had  difficulty  repressing  his  grin. 

"  Judge,"  said  Lanagan,  smoothly,  "  you  lie. 
Don't  try  to  peddle  any  of  that  stuff  on  me.  You 
see  him  about  three  times  a  week  right  here  in  this 
room,  and  you  regulate  your  court  calendar  by  what 
he  tells  you.  I  had  very  particular  reasons  for  won 
dering  whether  you  were  here  to-night.  I  see  you 
are.  So-long,  Billy.  Enjoy  that  wine,  Judge. 
But  you  better  order  another  Martini." 

Before  either  could  make  reply  he  backed  away 
from  the  door  and  left  the  cafe. 

"  Pretty  fair  start,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
grimly.  "  A  judge  with  Bannerman's  appreciation 
of  newspapers  will  have  a  lively  understanding  of 
the  mess  I  caught  him  in.  If  there  is  anything 
wrong  here,  there  will  be  a  get-together  of  some 
sort  quick." 

His  thoughts  swung  back  to  the  case  in  hand. 

"  The  man  who  was  big  enough  to  take  that 
woman  away  from  the  night  life  and  make  her  his 
wife,  was  not  the  man  who  was  killing  their  child," 
he  repeated  to  himself,  with  stubborn  reiteration. 
And  yet  there  could  not  be  found  hitherto  the  slight- 


i88  LANAGAN 

est  sherd  of  motive  on  the  part  of  anyone  else  to 
account  for  the  killing. 

And  yet,  so  far  as  Lanagan's  investigations  had 
gone  on  the  case,  Peters'  record  was  found  to  be  or 
dinary  enough,  and  neither  in  his  life  nor  that  of  his 
family  was  there  anything  irregular  to  be  discovered 
that  would  create  the  barest  suspicion  of  any  person 
seeking  to  strike  at  him  through  the  child.  There 
could  be  found  not  the  slightest  sherd  of  motive  on 
the  part  of  anyone  else  to  account  for  the  killing. 

The  life  of  the  wife  began  with  the  meeting  with 
Peters.  What  her  heritage  was  or  her  history  be 
fore  that  time,  proved  a  problem  absolutely  insolu 
ble  to  Lanagan  and  the  police :  although  the  police, 
for  their  part,  did  little  save  work  to  fasten  the 
crime  on  the  husband,  even  the  brilliant  Leslie, 
greatest  chief  of  his  time,  taking  that  line. 

The  records  of  the  night  life  are  unwritten,  save 
where  the  requiescat  is  inscribed  when  a  callous 
deputy  coroner  blots  the  entry  at  the  morgue.  Who 
she  was  before  she  came  into  the  brooding  shadow 
of  the  night  lights  was  a  secret  that,  if  any  of  the 
wastrels  there  knew,  they  guarded.  It  is  more  than 
likely  that  they  did  not  know.  It  is  a  great,  wide 
way,  the  entrance  there.  She  had  come  by  that  way 
one  of  a  multitude;  into  the  shadows  and  out. 
Whether  she  went  out  for  happiness  or  ill,  whether 
to  a  free  life  or  a  sombre  death,  few  there  cared  to 
ask,  even  if  they  recalled  her  at  all. 

Ceaselessly  Lanagan  had  searched  that  district. 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  189 

He  could  trace  her  back  to  the  time  when  Peters  met 
her  and  no  further.  That  incident  had  made  some 
trifling  stir  merely  because  the  "  guy  who  got 
'  copped  '  on  Gracie  "  had  taken  her  away  and  really 
married  her ;  or  so  they  had  heard. 

Otherwise  she  had  come  into  that  Tenderloin  dis 
trict  as  many  of  her  transitory  sisters,  with  a  suit 
case ;  but  whether  from  far  or  near  no  one  could  say. 

The  influences  that  were  eager  to  land  Peters  in 
the  penitentiary  were  unquestionably  the  same  that 
murdered  the  child;  so  Lanagan  argued  under  the 
spell  of  his  new  theory.  They  had  not  slain  the 
mother,  directly ;  but  they  may  have  shrewdly  calcu 
lated  the  effect  upon  her,  in  her  precarious  condition, 
of  the  death  of  the  child :  knowledge  of  which  could 
scarcely  be  kept  from  her. 

"  Let  us  suppose,  then,"  mused  Lanagan,  "  let 
us  suppose  that  someone  wanted  the  child  out  of 
the  way  and  now  wants  the  husband  out  of  the 
way.  It  would  be  possible  to  hang  him  for  that 
crime.  In  the  present  state  of  the  public  mind, 
and  with  Bannerman  holding  him  to  answer  for 
murder,  life  is  the  least  he  will  get.  What  hap 
pens  ?  The  child  of  '  Gracie  Dubois '  is  dead. 
The  husband  is,  or  soon  will  be,  civilly  dead.  She 
is  dead :  but  that  does  not  appear  to  have  a  moving 
cause.  Why  the  child's  death  and  the  father's  im 
prisonment?  Undoubtedly  so  that  someone  may 
profit.  But  who?  Who,  concealed  back  of  the 
shadows  of  the  night  lights,  kept  grim  watch  on 


igo  LANAGAN 

'  Gracie  Dubois  '  ?  Who  was  concerned  with  the 
fate  of  that  poor  wretched  girl  anxious  only  for 
redemption,  for  a  decent  life?  What  'dead 
hand  '  is  it  that  has  slain  her  issue  and  blighted 
her  poor  hopes  for  happiness  and  her  passionate 
ambition  for  motherhood?" 

And  Bannerman,  with  his  high  silk  hat  and  his 
frock  coat  and  his  impeccable  respectability,  came 
before  him  insistently;  Bannerman,  with  his  dry 
Martini  and  his  quart  of  wine  and  his  vis-a-vis  din 
ner  with  "  William  "  Fogarty. 

Many  thoughts  that  apparently  flash  into  the 
mind  spontaneously  are  but  the  products  of  a  chain 
of  thought  carried  consistently  over  a  period  of 
time. 

It  was  so  with  Lanagan  and  his  sudden  theory 
of  the  "  dead  hand  " ;  of  a  case  that  in  some  manner 
reverted  back  to  a  will  or  to  an  inheritance.  He 
was  rather  surprised  that  the  thought  had  not  oc 
curred  sooner;  but  he  had  been  busied  with  other 
thoughts  and  theories,  and  it  was  not  until  the  way 
had  been  cleared  that,  in  its  logical  time,  that  theory 
had  suddenly  struck  him  with  conviction.  And 
obviously  it  was  the  only  theory  that  had  not  as  yet 
been  exploited  by  him ;  that  some  place  back  in  the 
earlier  life  of  that  poor  waif  of  the  night  life  there 
might  lie  the  solution  of  the  crime  —  financial  rea 
sons  for  desiring  to  be  rid  of  her  progeny  and  her 
natural  legatee,  her  husband. 

The  question  intruded:  why  was  not  the  bus- 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  191 

band  murdered  as  well?  There  might  be  many 
reasons,  but  one  would  answer:  his  imprisonment 
would  suffice  even  if  he  were  not  executed;  and  if 
he  managed  to  avoid  any  penalty,  there  would  be 
time  enough  to  see  him. 

And  leading  back  to  that  "  dead  hand  "  theory  of 
his,  Lanagan  could  see  but  two  links :  Bannerman 
and  Fogarty. 

From  the  neighbourhood  of  the  St.  Germain  he 
got  me  on  the  wire. 

"  Cover  Fogarty Js,"  he  said.  "  Pick  up  some  of 
the  bunch  and  drop  in  casually.  Keep  your  eye  on 
him  if  he's  there,  and  who  he  talks  to.  Spend  money 
and  get  soberly  drunk,  if  necessary  to  allay  any 
suspicion  that  he  is  being  watched.  Get  Sampson 
on  the  'phone  by  ten  o'clock.  There  may  be  a 
message  for  you." 

I  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  what  it  was  all  about, 
but  Lanagan's  voice  was  as  snappy  as  a  drill  mas 
ter.  I  went  to  the  reporter's  room  at  police  head 
quarters  and  led  a  bunch  to  Fogarty's  to  rattle  the 
dice  for  a  round  or  two.  It  was  pay  night  and 
money  was  free.  If  Fogarty,  after  he  came  in, 
had  any  suspicions  of  me  —  he  knew  that  Lanagan 
and  I  always  worked  together  —  they  were  soon 
allayed.  The  dice  rolled  blithely  for  an  hour  or 
two  with  one  of  the  boys  dropping  out  occasionally 
to  "  cover  "  the  police  beat  for  the  others  while  the 
play  went  on. 

But  nothing  happened  and  I  slipped  away  to  get 


ig2  LANAGAN 

Sampson  on  the  'phone.  It  was  ten  o'clock.  He 
was  didactic  as  usual,  and  as  irritatingly  brief :  "  Re 
port  to  Lanagan.  Room  802  Fairmont.  Take  the 
back  stairs  and  make  the  room  above  all  things 
without  being  seen." 

That  same  old  tingle  that  always  shot  up  my  spine 
when  Lanagan  was  calling  me  in  on  the  smash  of 
one  of  his  grand  climaxes,  shivered  up  to  my  hair 
roots.  In  a  general  way  I  knew  the  quest  he  was 
on,  but  that  his  search  should  have  led  him  to  the 
Fairmont  hotel,  on  the  very  crest  of  aristocratic 
Nob  Hill,  was  sufficient  without  further  informa 
tion  to  set  my  imagination  humming. 

The  door  was  open  and  I  entered,  noiselessly. 
Lanagan  was  lying  on  the  bed,  smoking.  He 
jumped  up. 

"  Here,"  he  said  quickly,  indicating  a  chair 
drawn  up  before  the  door  leading  to  the  adjoining 
room  —  they  were  suite  rooms  but  used  separately. 
"  Sit  there  until  I  get  back  and  take  notes  on  what 
you  hear.  Keep  your  ear  glued  to  that  hole." 

He  had  cut  with  his  pocket  knife  an  inch  hole 
in  the  panelling  of  the  door.  He  had  whittled  it 
so  nicely  that  it  was  not  quite  cut  entirely  through. 
"  You  will  find  you  can  hear  everything  that  is 
said  in  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice.  There's  no  one 
in  there  now.  An  Englishman  named  Holmes  has 
the  room.  Pretty  soon  I  expect  him  and  Larry 
Leighton  in  there  with  a  girl.  I  am  going  out  and 
get  hold  of  Leslie.  Lock  the  door  after  me  and 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  193 

keep  your  ears  open  for  us  when  we  get  back.  I 
won't  knock,  but  will  turn  the  handle  once  or 
twice." 

"What's  the  lay?"  I  asked. 

"  No  time  to  talk  now,"  he  flung  back  over  his 
shoulder,  and  was  gone. 

It  was  probably  twenty  minutes  later  when  the 
occupants  of  the  adjoining  room  entered.  There 
were  two  men  and  a  woman.  I  could  distinguish 
perfectly  Leighton's  sonorous  voice.  He  had  been 
a  lawyer  of  standing  in  years  gone  by,  but  lately 
had  been  involved  in  one  or  two  transactions  a 
trifle  "  shady  "  in  character,  chiefly  pertaining  to 
the  administration  of  estates;  but  nothing  had  ever 
been  proved  against  him  nor  had  the  matter  ever 
got  into  such  shape  that  the  papers  could  use  it. 
So  far  as  the  general  public  was  concerned,  he 
stood  well  enough. 

"  I  felt  I  could  not  be  wrong,"  Leighton  was 
saying.  "  And  I  am  glad  that  you  are  satisfied. 
It  must  be  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to  you, 
Miss  Pendelton,  to  be  restored  to  your  name  and 
inheritance." 

"  I  am  only  sorry  now  it  did  not  happen  before 
poor  father  went,"  the  girl  replied,  with  a  tremble 
in  her  voice,  and  I  fancied  she  was  crying. 

"  Personally,"  it  was  the  Englishman's  voice, 
"  I  am  satisfied  of  the  identity.  But  of  course  my 
principals  in  London  will  also  have  to  be  satisfied. 
It  would  be  best  to  leave  at  once,  I  think,  for  Eng- 


194  LANAGAN 

land.  For  the  sake  of  the  Pendelton  name  we 
must  work  secretly  and  quietly.  I  would  not  want 
the  matter  in  the  public  prints  for  the  world." 

I  was  listening  with  such  intentness  that  it  was 
some  time  before  the  soft  and  insistent  grating  of 
the  doorknob  caught  my  attention.  I  tiptoed  to 
the  door.  Lanagan  entered.  In  another  moment 
Leslie  came  in  and  after  a  few  moments  of  inter 
val,  Brady  and  Wilson,  two  of  Leslie's  steadiest 
thief-takers,  stepped  in  softly.  There  was  big 
game  afoot  of  some  sort! 

Leslie  had  his  ear  to  the  door.  He  remained 
there  for  some  time,  and  then  motioned  Brady, 
who  took  his  turn,  followed  by  Wilson. 

Lanagan  was  sitting  on  a  corner  of  the  little 
table,  swinging  his  feet  lazily,  but  following  every 
move  made  by  the  officers,  and  watching  every 
shade  of  expression  in  their  faces.  Leslie  took 
another  turn  and  a  half  smile  played  over  Lana- 
gan's  face  as  that  veteran  Chief  finally  stepped  over 
to  him  and  put  out  his  hand.  Langan  gripped  it. 
Not  a  word  was  spoken.  Motioning  to  Brady  and 
Wilson,  Leslie  stepped  out  and  we  followed. 

He  rapped  on  the  door  to  the  adjoining  room. 
Leighton  opened  it,  a  look  of  enquiry  on  his  rotund 
features.  As  swiftly  as  though  a  swab  had  been 
rubbed  over  it,  his  look  of  enquiry  shaded  into 
one  of  alarm,  as  he  recognised  Leslie.  We  filed 
in  and  Wilson  snapped  the  lock  behind  him  and 
stood  at  the  door,  Brady  walking  quickly  to  the 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  195 

window  and  taking  his  position  there.  Not  a 
word  had  as  yet  been  spoken.  Leighton  stood  as 
though  stupefied.  The  Englishman,  a  dapper,  well- 
dressed  man  of  probably  forty,  smoking  a  cigarette 
at  ease,  raised  his  brows  as  we  entered,  but  said 
nothing. 

On  the  edge  of  the  bed  the  girl  was  sitting,  her 
wide  eyes  following  Leslie.  It  was  evident  that 
she  knew  him  by  sight.  Her  resemblance  to  Mrs. 
Peters  was  striking.  Both  were  women  of  that 
blonde,  doll- faced  type  so  frequently  found  in  the 
night  life. 

"  Leighton,"  said  Leslie,  "  the  jig  is  up." 

Leighton  sank  into  a  chair.  The  Chief  went  to 
the  connecting  door,  tapped  for  a  moment,  and 
then  jabbed  his  knife  through  Lanagan's  ear  hole. 

"  See  ?  "  he  said,  laconically.  "  We've  been 
listening  there  for  thirty  minutes.  Gertrude 
Pendelton  is  dead;  you  know  she  is  dead  and  her 
child  with  her.  And  this  woman  here,"  turning 
sharply  to  the  girl,  "  knows  that  she  is  not  Gertrude 
Pendelton.  She  knows  perfectly  well  that  she  is 
playing  a  crooked  '  lost  heir '  case  for  you, 
Leighton." 

As  though  he  had  been  a  jack  in  the  box,  Holmes 
jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  Heavens,  Sir !  "  he  cried,  "  why,  what  are  you 
saying!  Who  are  you?" 

Leslie  threw  back  his  coat,  displaying  his  dia 
mond-studded  shield. 


ig6  LANAGAN 

"  Chief  of  Police  Leslie  of  San  Francisco,"  He 
said,  shortly. 

With  a  swift  movement  the  girl's  hand  went 
to  her  corsage  and  in  a  flash  Lanagan  had  hurtled 
across  the  room  and  a  tiny  dagger  spun  to  the 
floor.  She  threw  herself  back  upon  the  bed,  cry 
ing  in  sudden  hysteria: 

"  You  might  have  let  me  done  it !  You  might 
have  let  me  done  it !  "  she  wailed  bitterly.  Lana 
gan  was  wrapping  up  his  hand.  He  had  got  the 
point  of  the  dagger  through  the  ball  of  his  thumb 
in  the  rush.  She  jumped  up  again  and  threw  her 
self  at  the  feet  of  Leslie. 

"  It's  my  first  crooked  trick,  so  help  me,  Chief ! 
He  dragged  me  into  it!  What  was  I  to  do?  It 
looked  easy  and  it  was  a  way  out  of  the  Tender 
loin!" 

Leighton  was  glancing  heavily,  his  lips  apart, 
from  the  door  to  the  window  as  though  planning 
an  attempt  to  escape  by  either  means. 

'  You've  been  shading  pretty  close  on  one  or  two 
things  lately,  Leighton,"  said  the  Chief  grimly. 
"  But  I  didn't  think  you  had  it  in  you  to  take  a 
chance  at  the  scaffold." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Chief?"  gasped 
Leighton,  with  a  sickly  attempt  at  composure. 

"  He  means,"  thundered  Lanagan,  "  that  you  are 
the  man  back  of  the  murder  of  the  real  Gertrude 
Pendelton's  child,  and  the  indirect  killing  of  Ger 
trude  Pendelton,  who  was  Mrs.  Peters !  He  means 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  197 

that  you  are  the  man  back  of  Fogarty,  who  is  the 
man  who  secured  the  conviction,  in  Bannerman's 
court,  of  Peters.  That's  what  he  means!" 

Lanagan  wheeled  on  the  Englishman. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  already  paid 
Leighton  ?  " 

"  One  thousand  pounds  for  producing  this  girl. 
He  was  to  get  four  thousand  more  when  final  proof 
of  identity  was  accepted  by  my  principals  in  Lon 
don." 

Leslie  and  Lanagan  exchanged  glances.  It  was 
big  pickings  for  Larry  Leighton.  Twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  in  all;  properly  handled  by  Fo 
garty,  it  would  go  a  long  way  to  grease  the  wheels 
of  justice  in  the  police  court. 

Leighton  arose,  shaking  like  a  palsied  man,  and 
tottered,  rather  than  walked,  to  the  Chief.  He  ex 
tended  his  wrists. 

"  Put  on  the  bracelets,  Chief,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
that  was  but  a  shadow  of  his  rich  voice.  "  I  took 
my  chances,  I'll  take  my  medicine.  The  girl 
hasn't  done  anything  yet  you  can  hold  her  on.  She 
knows  nothing  about  the  other  thing.  The  doc 
tors  had  given  me  two  years  to  live  —  kidneys 
gone  —  and  I  saw  a  chance  for  a  big  clean-up  and 
the  German  springs.  It  might  have  saved  me." 

"  Big !  "  interrupted  the  Englishman,  awed,  "  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds !  " 

"  That's  all,  Chief,"  resumed  Leighton.  "  I  did 
the  trick  with  the  child  myself,  I  wouldn't  trust 


iS8  LANAGAN 

anybody  else.  The  night  was  pitch  black  and  there 
are  no  houses  right  near  there,  you  know.  I  waited 
till  the  old  lady  went  out.  After  I  finished  the 
child,  I  was  going  to  get  the  mother,  but  the  front 
gate  slammed.  It  was  Peters  coming  home.  I 
slipped  out  the  back  door  again.  I  wanted  the 
husband  out  of  the  way,  on  general  principles.  I 
did  not  know  what  his  wife  might  have  told  him 
and  he  was  better  off,  in  case  any  publicity  attended 
the  restoration  of  the  girl  here,  where  he  couldn't 
squeak,  in  case  his  wife  had  ever  told  him  her  real 
name  and  story. 

"  This  girl  here,  a  Tenderloiner,  that  I  picked 
up  because  she  looks  a  good  bit  like  Mrs.  Peters, 
seemed  to  have  nerve  enough  for  the  deal,  and  she 
was  to  collect  the  estate  and  give  me  half.  It  was 
a  big  gamble.  You're  right  about  the  scaffold, 
Chief.  I  never  took  any  such  chance  before,  but 
this  was  a  '  get-away '  stake  for  life  for  me,  and 
I  took  it. 

"  I  had  no  direct  dealings  with  Bannerman. 
There's  nothing  on  him.  I  had  talks  with  Fogarty 
but  paid  no  money.  In  a  general  way  he  gathered 
I  wanted  the  man  across,  and  I  guess  he  gathered, 
too,  that  there  would  be  a  big  clean-up  all  around 
at  the  end  of  it.  There's  no  case  on  anybody  ex 
cept  myself." 

"  Nothing  on  Bannerman  or  Fogarty  that 
would  make  a  case  in  court,  possibly,"  said  Lan- 
agan,  curtly,  "  but  plenty  that  the  Enquirer  can 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  199 

print.  You're  loyal  to  your  pals,  Leighton." 
It  appeared  that  Leighton,  through  a  newspaper 
advertisement,  got  into  communication  with  the 
London  firm  of  lawyers  of  which  Holmes  was  the 
confidential  representative.  They  had  a  theory 
that  the  girl  they  sought  had  gone  to  San  Francisco. 
A  runaway  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  Gertrude  Pendel- 
ton  had  been  estranged  from  her  father.  She  hati 
taken  the  downward  path,  but  the  father,  relenting 
on  his  death  bed,  willed  his  estate  to  her,  and  his 
executors  had  for  months  been  endeavouring  to 
locate  her. 

Leighton  immediately  began  his  plotting  to  foist 
an  impostor  upon  the  executors  and  their  lawyers. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  they  had  accepted  him 
as  a  reputable  lawyer.  He  had  made  a  secret  trip  to 
England  and  had  secured  a  fairly  complete  record 
of  the  places  the  Pendeltons  had  lived  in  while 
the  daughter  was  still  with  them.  Originally  resi 
dents  of  various  parts  of  the  British  possessions, 
the  family  had  settled  at  Applegate,  where  the 
mother  died,  the  father  following  her  some  months 
later.  At  Applegate  there  were  none  who  had  ever 
known  the  daughter.  Leighton's  investigations  in 
England  failed  to  reveal  anyone  who  had  in  fact 
ever  known  her,  the  Pendeltons  only  coming  to 
England  to  settle  down  there  a  few  years  before. 

To  Leighton's  scheming  brain,  the  thing  looked 
perfectly  simple. 

The  murder  plot  was  secondary.     It  had  been 


200  LANAGAN 

his  original  plan  to  find  the  real  Gertrude  Pendel- 
ton  and  if  possible  strike  some  bargain  with  her. 
Equipped  with  a  picture  of  her  taken  at  the  age 
of  fifteen,  he  had  finally  traced  her,  to  find  her  re 
spectably  married.  Consequently,  it  was  hardly 
likely  that  he  could  strike  any  combination  with 
her  that  would  give  him  the  "  haul "  that  he 
sought  to  make.  Then,  with  her  alive,  there  was 
always  danger  that  she  would  disclose  her  identity 
to  her  husband.  When  the  child  came  along, 
Leighton,  keeping  close  tab  on  the  Peters,  con 
cluded  that  inevitably  motherly  pride  in  the  re 
deemed  woman  would  bring  about  an  attempt  at 
a  family  reconciliation.  Then  would  come  to  her 
the  knowledge  of  her  father's  death  and  of  her  own 
inheritance. 

He  determined  on  one  bold  stroke:  kill  mother 
and  child  on  the  gamble  that  what  did  happen, 
would  happen:  that  the  husband  would  be  accused. 

With  the  husband  safely  imprisoned,  or  possibly 
executed,  his  path  with  the  impostor  would  be  un 
impeded.  He  had  coached  his  impostor  well  on  the 
information  gained  on  his  English  trip. 

So  much  for  Leighton's  story.  Lanagan's  story 
was  startlingly  simple.  After  telephoning  for  me 
to  cover  Fogarty's,  he  had  returned  to  watch  the 
St.  Germain.  Fogarty  finally  came  out  and  Lana- 
gan  shadowed  him  to  the  Mills  building.  He  came 
from  there  shortly,  in  company  with  Leighton,  and 
Lanagan,  still  in  the  grasp  of  his  "  dead  hand  " 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  201 

theory,  and  knowing  Leighton  by  sight,  and  his 
reputation  in  the  inner  circles  for  tangling  up  in 
estate  cases,  dropped  Fogarty  and  followed  Leigh- 
ton.  He  went  directly  to  the  Fairmont.  When 
he  went  to  the  desk  to  call  for  Holmes,  Lanagan 
was  close  at  his  side.  Leighton  did  not  know  him 
by  sight.  Learning  which  room  Holmes  had,  Lan 
agan  was  fortunate  in  securing  an  unoccupied  room 
adjoining,  and  he  was  in  his  room  ten  minutes  after 
Leighton  had  entered  Holmes'.  Being  fortunate 
enough  to  get  the  room  merely  hastened  the  climax, 
because  the  case  was  already  clearing  in  Lanagan's 
mind. 

His  ear  to  the  keyhole  of  the  door  connecting 
the  two  rooms  —  many  of  the  rooms  in  that  hotel 
are  so  joined,  to  permit  of  them  being  thrown  into 
suites  —  he  had  heard  a  fragment  of  conversation 
here  and  there,  and  knew  that  Leighton  was  bring 
ing  a  girl  for  the  Englishman's  examination  who 
was  being  sought  as  a  missing  English  heir.  Fin 
ally  the  Englishman,  shortly  after  eight  o'clock, 
had  concluded  to  go  with  Leighton  to  bring  her, 
desirous  evidently  of  satisfying  himself  that  she 
was  in  the  Tenderloin,  which  seemed  to  be  a  point 
in  their  argument. 

With  Holmes  and  Leighton  out  of  their  room, 
Lanagan  had  set  to  work  to  whittle  a  hole  in  the 
door  for  better  hearing  facilities,  and  then  had 
sent  the  message  to  Sampson  that  brought  me  to 
his  room. 


202  LANAGAN 

To  Lanagan's  ranging  mind,  the  thing  was  as 
clear  as  print.  He  had  traced  his  connection  past 
Fogarty  down  to  the  last  figure  in  the  combination. 
It  was  a  "  long  shot,"  perhaps,  that  Leighton  had 
put  the  real  heir  out  of  the  way  in  order  to  impose  an 
imposture  on  the  estate  and  thus  divide  probably 
a  full  half;  but  it  was  on  "  long  shots  "  that  Lana 
gan's  extraordinary  brain  usually  won  out. 

The  narratives  were  ended.  Lanagan  turned  to 
Leslie : 

"  I  want  Peters  here,  Chief,  to  give  the  last  note 
to  my  story.  To  prevent  any  '  leak '  from  the 
county  jail,  I  will  have  Haddon  get  Superior  Judge 
Dunlevy  to  telephone  a  verbal  order  of  release  to 
the  jail  for  Peters  to  be  brought  to  the  city  to  see 
his  council.  It's  rather  unusual,  but  has  been  done 
before,  and  Dunlevy  will  do  it.  I  think  I'll  get 
Haddon  in  for  the  finals,  too.  He's  been  in  the 
case  pretty  deep." 

It  was  probably  an  hour  later  before  Haddon 
dropped  into  the  room.  He  had  sent  a  machine 
for  Peters,  Dunlevy  telephoning  the  order.  A  few 
moments  later  Peters,  in  charge  of  a  deputy  sheriff, 
entered  and  in  brief  and  business-like  fashion  the 
facts  were  laid  before  him.  It  was  a  little  too 
much  for  him  to  grasp  all  at  once. 

When  he  finally  did,  it  was  the  Englishman  who 
brought  matters  to  a  business  basis  by  remarking: 

"  Leighton  certainly  seems  to  have  been  ex 
tremely  positive  about  the  identity  of  Mrs.  Peters* 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  203 

Did  you  know  that  she  was  Gertrude  Pendelton?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Peters,  "  I  married  my  wife  as  I 
found  her,  and  I  asked  no  questions.  She  made  me 
a  good  wife.  She  never  talked  about  herself  or  her 
people." 

"  Did  she  have  any  keepsakes,  any  old  trinkets, 
any  pictures  ?  " 

Peters  unbuttoned  his  shirt.  "'Only  this,"  he 
said,  producing  a  locket  attached  to  a  fine  gold 
chain.  "  She  asked  me  to  wear  it  when  she  was 
taken  to  bed,  and  if  anything  happened,  to  give  it 
to  the  babe.  The  police  missed  it  in  searching  me. 
It's  her  father  and  mother,  I  think,  although  she 
never  said." 

With  eager  fingers  Holmes  opened  the  old-fash 
ioned  locket. 

"  It  is  Captain  and  Mrs.  Pendelton,"  he  said, 
simply.  "  He  looks  as  he  looked  the  day  before 
his  death."  A  silence  fell  upon  the  room,  as  he 
snapped  the  locket  and,  bowing  profoundly,  passed 
it  back  to  Peters.  He  then  continued: 

"  My  mission  here  has  certainly  had  a  curious 
termination.  I  will  remain  until  the  court  matters 
against  you  are  all  disposed  of.  I  would  suggest 
then  that  you  return  with  me  to  London,  so  that 
you  can  be  on  the  ground  in  the  arrangements  for 
transferring  the  estate  to  you." 

"  There  will  be  no  arrangements,"  said  Peters. 
"  I  don't  want  the  money." 

The  Englishman  stared  incredulously. 


204  LANAGAN 

"  Don't  want  it !  Don't  want  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  pounds,  three  quarters  of  a  million 
dollars?  It  will  escheat  to  the  Crown  if  you  re 
fuse  it." 

"Let  it  then,"  said  Peters,  stubbornly.  "I 
don't  want  it.  Why  should  I  take  something  my 
wife  didn't  want?  There  must  be  something 
wrong  about  it  somewhere.  Why  should  I  make 
money  by  the  death  of  my  wife  and  child?  If 
she  were  here  to  share  it  —  if  only  my  boy  were 
here—" 

He  broke  down  for  the  first  time  since  his  arrest, 
and  sobbed,  throwing  his  arms  over  his  head  in  a 
wild  burst  of  grief.  Finally  he  composed  himself. 

"  I'll  go  back  to  my  trade,"  he  said,  simply. 
"  Hard  work  is  the  best  thing  for  me  now." 

He  turned  to  Lanagan  and  their  hands  met  in  a 
long,  hard  clasp. 

"  If  it  can  be  done,  I'll  turn  the  money  over  to 
you,  Mr.  Lanagan." 

"  Thanks,  Peters,  no.  I've  only  done  a  news 
paperman's  work;  what  the  Enquirer  pays  me  to 
do.  You're  all  man;  and  it's  been  a  pleasure  to 
clear  you." 

To  Leslie,  again  the  master  newspaper  mind, 
calculating  the  minutes  swiftly  slipping  around 
after  midnight,  he  snapped: 

"  It's  in  your  hands  now,  Chief.  Keep  every 
body  here  and  stall  around  for  an  hour  or  so,  while 
Norton  and  I  give  the  town  a  story  that,  if  it 


THE  PENDELTON  LEGACY  205 

doesn't  make  a  case  in  court  against  Fogarty  and 
Bannerman,  will  at  least  chase  Fogarty  out  of 
town  till  it  blows  over  and  beat  Bannerman  out  of 
the  nomination  for  Superior  Judge.  His  name 
comes  before  the  convention  to-morrow  night. 
We're  off." 

Then  to  me  as  we  swiftly  pelted  out  of  the  room : 
"  Key  up  to  it,  Norrie;  this  is  some  stemwinder!  " 


VIII 
AT  THE  END  OF.  THE  LONG  NIGHT 


VIII 
AT  THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT    . 

UT7XTRA!  EXTRA!"  in  shrill  diminuendo 
M\^  awakened  Jack  Lanagan  from  the  very 
heart  of  his  morning  slumber.  The  morning  paper 
man  sleeps  late  and  nothing  short  of  cataclysm 
or  the  cry  of  an  extra  is  likely  to  awaken  him. 
Lanagan  was  from  his  bed  to  the  window  in  a  lanky 
leap  hailing  the  newsboy. 

It  was  the  Evening  Record  with  a  "  screamer  " 
head  and  two  hundred  words  of  black-face  type. 
Lanagan  swept  through  it  in  a  comprehensive  flash. 
With  more  speed  than  was  his  custom  he  there 
upon  dressed. 

"  Swanson! "  he  said.     "  Gad,  what  a  story !  " 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  more  leisurely  to 
roll  a  brown-paper  cigarette  and  read  the  story  more 
carefully.  Stripped  of  flaring  headlines,  it  was  as 
follows : 

"All  hope  for  the  safety  of  Captain  Robert 
Swanson,  the  retired  millionaire  shipping  man  who 
disappeared  on  Wednesday  evening,  was  dissipated 
this  morning,  shortly  after  9.30  o'clock,  when  the 
body  of  the  well-known  philanthropist  was  found 
in  a  subcellar  room  in  the  notorious  Palace  Hotel 
in  Chinatown. 

209 


sio  LANAGAN 

"  Death  was  due  to  strangulation. 

"  Life  had  probably  been  extinct  three  days,  and 
it  is  the  police  theory  that  Captain  Swanson  went 
directly  to  the  hotel  or  was  lured  there  on  the  even 
ing  of  his  disappearance. 

"  His  watch  and  valuables  were  found  on  his 
person. 

"  So  far  as  a  hasty  examination  could  discover 
no  one  saw  him  enter  the  hotel,  which  bears  an 
evil  reputation  and  is  occupied  by  the  lowest 
type  of  denizen  of  Chinatown  and  the  Barbary 
Coast. 

"  The  room  where  the  body  was  found  is  one  of 
several  that  have  been  dug  out  beneath  the  base 
ment  and  is  used  entirely  by  opium  smokers. 

"  Chief  of  Police  Leslie  has  ordered  all  available 
detectives  on  the  case  and  arrests  are  expected  at 
any  moment." 

"  Which  means,"  finally  grumbled  Lanagan, 
"  that  I  get  no  day  off  to-morrow  to  split  a  quart  of 
Chianti  with  mine  host  Pastori. 

"  Swanson,"  he  ran  quickly  back  in  his  mind, 
"is  president  of  the  Seamen's  Bank;  director  of 
the  Cosmos  Club;  director  of  a  dozen  corporations; 
trustee  of  his  church;  sound  as  a  nut  at  sixty-five; 
solidly  established  in  the  old  conservative  families 
of  Nob  Hill,  with  a  family  of  married  children  like 
wise  solidly  established  in  the  solidest  kind  of  re 
spectability  and  a  wife  who  is  a  silvery-haired  saint 
if  there  ever  was  one. 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     211 

"  Yet  he,  a  man  who  probably  didn't  know  such 
a  place  as  Chinatown's  Palace  Hotel  existed  until 
that  night,  is  found  dead  in  the  lowest  sink  of  that 
hole.  The  extremes  of  the  social  system  met  in 
his  end  and  the  place  of  it." 

The  Chinatown  Palace  Hotel  of  the  days  just 
before  the  fire  gave  that  quarter  of  San  Francisco 
obliteration,  the  one  thing  that  could  cleanse  it, 
was  a  sorry  second  to  the  pretentious  hostelry  on 
Market  Street.  A  ramshackle  structure,  illy  lit 
through  its  crooked  corridors  and  musty  rooms 
with  ancient  gas  jets,  it  looked  more,  in  its  complete 
dirt  and  dinginess,  like  an  exaggerated  rabbit  war 
ren.  Three  stories  above  ground  and  one  or  two 
below,  cut  up  into  rooms,  the  largest  not  more  than 
eight  by  ten,  the  smallest  just  large  enough  for  a 
bunk  and  an  opium  layout,  it  had  survived  by  some 
miracle  the  health  authorities  to  hive  in  musty  murk 
the  off-scourings  of  a  city.  Once,  when  Ports 
mouth  Square  was  the  civic  centre,  it  had  harboured 
the  kings  of  the  early  gold  days. 

The  rooms  were  larger  in  those  days;  the  front 
suites  that  gave  ease  to  the  idling,  new-made 
Crcesus  had  long  since  been  cut  up  into  five,  six, 
seven,  or  eight,  as  the  increasing  congestion  of  the 
quarter  threw  an  increasing  swarm  of  vermin  to 
its  recesses. 

Save  for  white  "  dope  fiends,"  known  in  the 
vernacular  of  the  police  as  "  hops,"  "  cokes,"  or 
"  morphs,"  users  of  opium,  cocaine,  or  morphine, 


212  LANAGAN 

it  was  inhabited  solely  by  Chinese,  some  of  them 
coolie  labourers,  but  the  most  of  them  likewise 
"  fiends." 

Below  the  basement  floor  were  a  dozen  rooms  not 
high  enough  for  a  man  to  stand  erect  in.  The  light 
of  day  never  entered.  What  light  they  received 
came  from  one  main  gas  jet  in  the  corridor  or  the 
occasional  flash  of  a  policeman's  pocket  light  as  the 
Chinatown  squad  made  their  rounds.  Save  for1 
the  members  of  the  squad,  and  at  times  a  jaded 
police  reporter,  idling  from  the  reporters'  room  in 
the  near-by  Hall  of  Justice  on  a  quiet  night  through 
the  district  with  the  squad  sergeant,  it  is  probable 
no  white  man  save  the  "  fiends  "  of  the  district  had 
ever  before  gasped  for  breath  in  that  foul  den  — 
no  white  man,  that  is,  before  Captain  Robert  Swan- 
son,  who  entered  there  one  night  never  to  emerge. 
It  was  three  days  before  one  of  the  denizens  of  the 
subcellar,  finally  realising  that  the  occupant  of  the 
next  bunk  was  not  in  the  stupor  of  drug  but  the 
stiffness  of  death,  made  his  way  with  frantic  hippity- 
hoppings  to  the  first  member  of  the  squad  he  could 
find  and  reported  the  matter,  not  forgetting  to 
whine  for  his  ten  cents  for  so  doing. 

Such,  in  substance,  were  the  facts  in  the  mystery 
that  set  the  city  and  the  coast  —  Swanson  was  a 
notable  figure  in  shipping  circles  —  in  a  ferment 
for  a  week. 

For,  more  than  the  initial  fact  of  finding  the 
body  in  Chinatown's  cesspool,  five  days  had  now 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT      213 

elapsed  with  not  one  single  additional  fact  of  con 
sequence  to  clear  the  mystery.  Suspects  without 
number  had  been  jailed.  Every  ex-convict, 
"  fiend,"  vagrant,  or  questionable  character  of  the 
district,  white,  yellow,  or  black,  male  or  female, 
had  been  put  through  the  police  mill.  The  opium 
dens  had  been  emptied  of  their  wastrels,  blinking 
like  bats  in  the  light  of  day.  Swanson's  past  and 
his  present  life  were  run  under  a  high-power  lens; 
his  servants'  and  his  employees'  lives  and  the  lives 
of  his  former  servants  and  former  employees ;  Chief 
Leslie  was  a  fellow  member  of  the  Cosmos  Club 
with  Swanson,  and  if  any  additional  good  to  his 
natural  police  pride  were  necessary  to  spur  him  on, 
that  afforded  it.  Every  recourse  that  police  ex 
perience  could  adapt  or  devise  was  applied. 

Always  there  was  lacking  motive:  that  main 
spring  for  crime. 

That  Swanson  had  by  any  chance  been  addicted 
to  the  drug  habit  was  early  dismissed.  Practically 
every  hour  of  his  methodical  life  could  be  accounted 
for  for  months  back. 

But  in  so  far  as  his  movements  were  concerned 
from  the  moment  he  left  his  doorstep  on  Wednes 
day  evening  until  the  body  was  found,  he  may  as 
well  have  left  his  doorstep  invested  in  an  invisible 
mantle,  for  no  living  person  that  could  be  located 
had  seen  him  alive. 

There  was  one  peculiar  circumstance.  He  had 
worn  that  night  a  heavy  ulster  overcoat,  although 


214  LANAGAN 

the  night  had  not  been  chilly,  and  Mrs.  Swanson 
had  remarked  on  it  at  parting.  The  coat  was  not 
found  with  the  body. 

It  is  not  exaggeration  to  say  that  in  physical 
output  Lanagan  worked  harder  than  any  three  re 
porters  or  detectives  during  the  first  five  days  of 
the  case.  He  did  not  take  me  into  his  confidence: 
he  seldom  did  until  the  "  smash  "  approached  on 
any  story.  He  smoked  eternally  or  chewed  to  pulp 
his  own  select  brand  of  rank  Manilas,  or  consumed 
innumerable  cigarettes.  Lanagan  never  had  to 
bother  with  the  daily  routine  of  a  story;  that  was 
all  left  to  me.  His  work  was  the  big  "  feature  " 
stuff.  He  might  not  write  a  line  for  a  week  and 
then  he  would  saunter  into  the  picture  with  a  news 
sensation  that  would  upend  the  town. 

But  there  seemed  to  be  no  "  upending  "  on  this 
case.  During  the  five  days  that  had  elapsed  the 
big  portion  of  the  work  had  fallen  to  me.  Lana 
gan  had  absolutely  not  turned  a  trick.  On  Wed 
nesday  evening  at  midnight,  as  I  turned  in  my  story 
for  the  day,  identical  as  I  felt  it  would  be  with  the 
other  two  morning  papers,  Lanagan  'phoned  me  to 
meet  him  at  the  Hall  of  Justice. 

I  drifted  down  there. 

"  I  just  wanted  to  tell  you,"  was  his  greeting, 
"  that  I  am  going  to  disappear.  Don't  look  for 
me.  I  will  discover  myself  when  the  time  comes. 
I'm  going  to  lose  myself  up  in  Chinatown,  for  the 
solution  of  that  story  is  there,  and  I'm  not  coming 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     215 

until  I've  landed  something  and  choked  off  the 
side  remarks  of  the  Times  and  Herald  outfit, 
if  I  stay  there  for  the  balance  of  my  natural  life. 
The  police  can  hang  as  they  please  to  their  hoary 
old  dogma  that  a  '  hop  head '  never  commits  mur 
der.  Just  because  they're  so  positive,  I  am  going 
to  take  the  other  tack;  at  least  until  I  have  proved 
their  theory  to  my  own  satisfaction.  There  isn't 
a  man  outside  the  frequenters  of  this  quarter  knew 
of  that  subcellar  and  that's  the  theory  I  am  going 
to  stick  with  now.  Keep  in  pretty  close  touch  with 
the  office  so  I  can  get  you  in  a  hurry  if  anything 
turns  up.  Good-by." 

In  another  moment  he  was  walking  rapidly  up 
Washington  Street  to  disappear  down  Dupont,  out 
of  sight  for  three  days. 

The  story  had  run  eight  days  and  a  dearth  of 
fresh  angles  had  thinned  it  out  a  trifle,  when,  on 
Saturday  evening,  along  about  ten  o'clock,  as  I 
hung  around  the  local  room  hoping  against  hope 
for  a  call  from  Lanagan,  it  came. 

"  Meet  me  in  front  of  old  St.  Mary's,"  he  said, 
shortly,  and  I  thrilled  instantly  with  that  same 
premonitory  tremor  that  always  came  over  me  when 
the  climax  was  on.  I  sped  down  Kearney  Street 
and  in  the  shadow  of  the  church  steps  picked  him 
up. 

"  Dorrett  is  watching  me,"  he  said.  "  He's  been 
covering  me  for  days."  Dorrett  was  the  oldest 
special  policeman  in  Chinatown  and  generally  held 


ai6  LANAGAN 

to  be  a  "  leak  "  for  the  Herald  through  personal 
friendship  for  a  former  police  reporter,  now  city 
editor  of  that  paper.  In  such  fashion  do  papers 
develop  their  "  sources  "  of  news.  "  I  have  one 
clue  that  may  be  the  key  to  the  solid  brick  wall  we 
have  been  up  against.  And  I  am  not  going  to  lose 
that  key  to  the  Herald  via  Dorrett,"  concluded 
Lanagan,  as  he  suddenly  stepped  fully  into  the  glare 
of  the  gas  street  lamp  on  the  corner  just  as  Dor 
rett  sidled  up.  I  saw  that  Lanagan  had  deliberately 
exposed  himself. 

"  Really,  Dorrett,"  he  remarked  in  that  sinister 
tone  he  could  assume  so  well  on  occasion,  "  some 
of  these  days  I  shall  actually  trip  over  you  if  you 
persist  in  blundering  beneath  my  feet.  You  might 
fall  quite  hard  in  that  case  and  hurt  yourself. 
However,  just  tell  Cartwright "  (city  editor  of  the 
Herald)  "  that  I  am  going  to  hand  him  a  pack 
age  of  nitroglycerin  right  on  your  own  particular 
little  bailiwick,  will  you?  Please  run  along  now, 
like  a  good  little  special  policeman,  because  we  are 
going  to  lose  you  —  thusly." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  ran  for  a  California 
Street  car  just  lumbering  past  us  up  the  hill  and  I 
followed  suit.  After  a  few  blocks  he  crossed 
through  the  car  and  dropped  off  on  the  other  side. 
Scouting  cautiously  back  toward  Chinatown  by  way 
of  Washington  Street,  drifting  along  with  eyes 
wide  for  Dorrett,  we  finally  made  Ross  Alley, 
where  Lanagan  stopped  for  a  fraction  of  a  second 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     217 

at  the  wicket  of  the  gambling  house   at   No.   8. 

At  that  time  it  was  a  strict  rule  of  the  gambling 
"  joints  "  that  a  white  man  could  not  enter.  Per 
sonally,  for  all  of  my  four  years'  dubbing  around 
on  police,  I  never  had  been  able  to  enter  a  Chinese 
gambling  house  when  the  play  was  on.  Yet  the 
lookout  flashed  one  glance  at  Lanagan,  grinned  yel- 
lowly  and  ingenuously,  and  the  massive  solid  oak 
door  before  us  swung  noiselessly  open  and  we 
passed  quickly  through.  As  it  shut  behind  us  I 
heard  a  faint  click-click,  and  glanced  back.  Three 
separate  two-by-four  scantlings,  heavily  re-enforced 
with  iron,  had  dropped  back  into  their  sockets.  The 
door  was  as  solid  as  a  concrete  wall  against  the 
axes  of  the  Chinatown  squad;  the  theory  being  that 
by  the  time  the  squad  had  the  door  battered  down, 
the  players  had  departed  through  some  secret  run 
way. 

"  Melodrama  ?  "  laughed  Lanagan  at  me.  "  But 
I  had  to  come  by  the  back  door,  as  it  were.  I 
wouldn't  like  to  have  any  stray  police  or  reporters 
or  Dorrett  suspect  I  was  about  to  interview  the  man 
I  am.  They  might  smell  a  rat,  possibly.  We  are 
more  isolated  among  these  hundred  Chinks,  gam 
bling  their  fool  heads  off,  than  we  would  be  in  one 
of  Leslie's  dark  cells." 

We  passed  directly  through  the  long  room  with 
its  eight  high  tables,  at  each  of  which  ten  or  a 
dozen  impassive  Celestials,  with  chopsticks,  beans, 
and  teacups,  stood  engaged  in  the  contraband  pas- 


218  LANAGAN 

time  of  fantan.  At  a  table  or  two  a  pie  gow  game 
was  running,  and  in  a  corner  dominoes.  The  air 
was  so  heavy  and  heated  that  I  felt  the  perspiration 
starting  in  an  instant.  The  Chinese  gambler,  if  he 
is  winning,  sticks  in  that  thick  atmosphere  for  hours 
at  a  time. 

At  the  rear  of  the  room  was  another  door,  like 
wise  barred  in  triplicate.  Here  another  lookout 
grinned  friendly  at  Lanagan  and  pressed  on  an  in 
nocent-appearing  nail  head  in  the  wainscoting  and 
the  bars  dropped  and  the  door  opened  to  a  steep 
ladder.  We  went  down  about  ten  feet  into  a  blind 
areaway  between  two  buildings. 

It  was  as  black  as  your  derby  hat.  But  Lanagan, 
the  marvellous,  stepped  ahead  with  assurance  and  I 
followed  him  gropingly.  In  another  moment  he 
rapped  faintly  on  what  I  took  to  be  a  section  of  the 
brick  base  of  the  building,  a  click  sounded,  he  took 
me  by  the  arm,  pulled  me  after  him,  another  click, 
and  the  next  moment  a  blaze  of  electric  light  dis 
covered  us  to  be  in  a  small  lounging  room  elabo 
rately  appointed  in  Oriental  furnishings. 

"Hullo,  Mist'  Lamagum!" 

The  voice  came  from  a  corpulent,  twinkling- 
eyed,  richly  garbed  Chinaman  just  arisen  from  a 
massive  chair  of  ebony  and  mother-of-pearl. 

"  Hello,  Fu,"  said  Lanagan,  sinking  into  another 
massive  chair  and  motioning  me  to  do  likewise. 

"  My  friend  Norton,  Fu.  Norton,  Mr.  Fu 
Wong,  otherwise  known  to  me  as  Why  Because. 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     219 

You    will   understand   '  why    because '    presently." 

"Why?  Becaus'?  I  tell  you,"  said  Fu  Wong, 
chuckling.  "  Him  funny  boy,  Mist'  Lamagum. 
He,  whatyoucalem,  jolly  me.  You  likem  smoke?" 
He  pressed  a  button  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  a 
flowing-garbed  Chinese  boy  appeared  with  rich 
Havanas  on  a  tray,  together  with  individual  tea 
cups  and  two-piece  teapots  for  three. 

"Did  you  find  See  Wong?"  Lanagan  asked  ab 
ruptly,  while  I  studied  Fu,  whom  I  knew  by  repu 
tation  as  one  of  the  Chinese  merchant  princes.  "  I 
am  in  a  hurry,  Fu." 

"  I  catchem.  He  say  Charley  drive  aut-o- 
mob-eel.  Charley  live  there  three,  fo'  wicks.  She 
cry  one  time  See  bringem  tea :  '  Oh,  Charley ! 
Charley !  Why  f o'  you  do  him  ?  What's  mala  you, 
Charley?'  She  stop  quick  see  See.  Why?  Be 
caus'?  See,  he  donno.  He  say  Charley  he  usem, 
what  you  call  'em?  Hop." 

For  the  first  time  since  this  story  broke,  that 
singular  flashing,  almost  like  a  cat's  eyes,  flamed 
into  Lanagan's  dark  eyes  and  they  shot  a  respon 
sive  shiver  of  high  tension  interest  through  me,  be 
cause  I  knew  that  at  last  he  had  struck  the  trail. 

"  You  have  done  more  for  me  than  I  can  ever 
repay,"  said  Lanagan  at  parting.  "  You  are  a  re 
markable  man,  Fu  Wong." 

Fu  laughed  boyishly. 

"  Why  ?  Becaus'  ?  You  save  my  sto'  good 
name?  I  help  you." 


220  LANAGAN 

As  we  went  back  out  the  way  we  came  in,  Lana- 
gan  enlightened  me. 

"  Fu  is  president  of  the  Suey  Sing  Tong.  There 
is  a  Chinaman,  Swanson's  cook,  See  Wong,  whom 
I  have  been  hammering  on  for  two  days.  Of  all 
the  household  servants,  I  have  a  vague  suspicion  of 
him.  I  couldn't  land  him.  Finally  I  looked  up  his 
affiliation,  found  he  was  a  Suey  Sing  man,  and  then 
I  enlisted  the  services  of  Fu  Wong.  See  Wong 
would  have  to  talk  to  his  tong  leader  where  the  po 
lice  or  the  reporters  couldn't  drag  information  out 
of  him  with  a  team  of  mules.  He  purely  and 
simply  wouldn't  *  sabe,'  and  that's  all  the  satisfac 
tion  you  could  get. 

"  *  Why  Because'  is  not  only  proprietor  of  one  of 
the  biggest  bazaars  here  and  a  director  of  the 
Chinese  Bank,  but  he  is  also  proprietor  —  I  am  tell 
ing  you  Chinatown  secrets  and  not  to  be  repeated 
—  of  the  gambling  house  we  came  through  and  sev 
eral  others.  He  is  one  of  the  powers  of  the  quar 
ter. 

"  There  was  an  English  tourist  robbed  in  his 
bazaar  once  of  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  and  I 
was  sent  up  here.  Fu  laboured  under  the  impres 
sion  that  the  entire  sixteen  pages  of  the  Enquirer 
were  going  to  be  turned  over  to  that  particular  rob 
bery.  He  felt  the  disgrace  of  the  thing  keenly, 
as  any  high-class  Chinaman  would,  and  personally 
offered  the  Englishman  back  the  money.  That  was 
a  good  story.  For  some  reason  Fu,  not  understand- 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     221 

ing  the  American  newspaper  idea  of  '  human  inter 
est,'  elected  to  think  I  had  written  a  eulogy  of  him 
deliberately.  I  could  have  had  half  his  store  at 
that  time,  I  guess,  if  I  had  wanted  it.  But  I  took 
a  cigar  and  a  cup  of  tea,  and  ever  since  that  time 
I  have  been  taken  inside  the  inner  circle  up  here. 
The  room  we  were  in  is  a  runway  through  the 
basement  of  the  bazaar  next  door  in  case  of  a  raid. 

"  '  Charley '  was  a  chauffeur  named  Thorne,  em 
ployed  by  Mrs.  Swanson  about  three  months  ago 
for  several  weeks.  He  was  one  of  the  numerous 
wastrels  that  that  woman  of  unostentatious  but 
magnificent  charities  had  under  her  protection. 
There  are  scores  in  and  about  the  city,  men  and 
women,  boys  and  girls,  that  she  had  taken  from  the 
under  side  of  life  and  put  on  top.  I  didn't  see  him, 
but  some  of  Leslie's  men  did  and  found  nothing 
suspicious.  Had  they  known  he  was  a  '  hop,'  how 
ever,  they  might  have  thought  differently.  It  es 
tablishes  a  very  clear  apparent  connection  between 
Swanson  and  the  Palace  Hotel  and  the  only  definite 
clue  that  has  been  turned  up.  We  will  save  a  lot 
of  time  by  getting  his  address  from  Leslie." 

Lanagan  was  through  with  Leslie  in  a  few  mo 
ments. 

"  He  is  going  home,  but  will  be  on  tap  with  Brady 
and  Wilson  if  we  need  him  later,"  he  said.  "  He 
got  curious  when  I  mentioned  Thorne,  but  prom 
ised  to  lay  off  until  he  heard  from  me.  Thorne 
lives  at  Lombard  and  Larkin,  where,  in  view  of 


222  LANAGAN 

Mrs.  Swanson's  undoubted  suspicion  that  he  com 
mitted  the  crime,  coupled  with  See  Wong's  charge 
that  he  is  a  '  hop/  we  will  now  proceed  to  call  on 
him." 

We  were  there  in  a  few  moments.  It  was  a 
squalid  lodging  house,  in  charge  of  a  slatternly  bel 
dam.  She  didn't  know  whether  Thorne  was  in  or 
not.  He  was  kind  of  loony,  lately,  she  thought. 

"  Too  bad,"  said  Lanagan,  genially.  "  Has 
Charley  been  so  that  he  couldn't  be  out  the  last 
Week  ?  He  wasn't  feeling  well  last  time  I  saw  him." 

"  Ain't  seen  much  of  him  this  week,"  she  replied. 
"  I  didn't  know  about  it,  but  I  am  beginnin'  to  think 
he  is  one  of  them  there  fiends.  He  is  actin'  some 
thing  awful  sometimes  lately,  what  with  his  skip- 
pin's  and  hoppin's.  You  can  go  on  up." 

The  door  was  locked,  but  it  was  a  rickety  affair; 
and  the  lock  yielded  to  the  pressure  of  our  shoul 
ders.  A  man  who  might  have  been  any  age  from 
twenty  to  forty  swung  himself  to  a  sitting  position 
on  a  disordered  bed  and  glared  at  us  with  eyes  that 
were  wide  open  but  only  half  seeing. 

"  Full  of  hop;  and  I  might  as  well  jam  him  on  a 
gamble,"  said  Lanagan,  in  an  aside  to  me  as  he 
stepped  quickly  over  and  pulled  Thorne  to  his  feet, 
slapped  him  across  the  face,  and  sat  him  down  in  a 
chair.  A  high-pitched,  querulous  protest  was  voiced 
at  the  treatment,  and  then  Thorne  whimpered : 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  cruel !  What  have  I  ever  done 
to  be  treated  so  cruelly?  "  He  began  to  cry. 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     223 

"  Done  ?  You  snivelling  viper,  put  on  your  shoes 
and  come  with  me  to  jail.  You  murdered  Robert 
Swanson  and  you  are  going  to  hang  for  it.  Get 
up  and  come  along."  Again  Lanagan  caught  him 
a  sharp  slap  across  the  face.  This  time  Thorne  did 
not  whimper.  A  look  of  cunning  came  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Getting  your  wits  back  pretty  quick,  now,  eh?  " 
sneered  Lanagan. 

Thorne  stared.  It  seemed  for  a  moment  his 
clouded  eyes  entirely  cleared;  and  then  the  film  of 
the  drug-sodden  brain  fell  over  his  eyes  again,  and 
he  relapsed  to  his  hunched  position.  He  was  shiv 
ering  and  rocking  himself,  his  angular  knees  drawn 
up  to  his  chin,  clasped  around  with  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  "  His  voice  was  pitched 
high  again  like  a  woman's.  "  Why  is  everyone  so 
cruel  to  me?  I  am  very  nervous,  as  you  can  see, 
gentlemen.  I  really  need  something  to  quiet  my 
nerves.  It  is  the  doctor's  orders,  really.  Would 
it  be  asking  too  much,  now,  to  ask  for  the  loan  of 
ten  cents  ?  Oh,  dear  — " 

"  Thorne  I "  Lanagan,  his  aspect  actually  fero 
cious,  leaped  before  the  half-arisen  suppliant.  I 
shrank  back  myself,  his  acting  was  so  consummately 
done. 

"  I'll  give  you  ten  cents,  you  viper !  You  mur 
dering,  crawling,  poisonous  viper!  I'll  give  you 
the  condemned  cell  at  San  Quentin  and  the  death 
watch  and  the  black  cap,  and  the  quick  drop,  until 


224  LANAGAN 

they  crack  that  snake's  neck  of  yours  into  a  dozen 
pieces !  That's  what  I'll  give  you !  " 

Chattering,  jabbering  incoherently,  his  long,  lean, 
sharp-nailed,  claw-like  hands  working  spasmodically 
before  his  face  and  toward  Lanagan,  the  fiend  hud 
dled  back.  He  glanced  from  side  to  side,  his  head 
lolling,  as  though  seeking  some  avenue  of  escape 
by  a  desperate  leap. 

Lanagan's  eyes  were  within  a  foot  of  his  face. 
Thorne  began  to  foam  at  the  mouth.  I  thought  he 
was  going  into  a  fit  as  I  watched,  fascinated,  the 
horrible  scene.  Bearing  down  upon  the  wretch  with 
savagery  in  his  voice  and  manner,  Lanagan  ham 
mered  on: 

"  Give  you  ten  cents !  What  do  you  want  with 
ten  cents?  You'll  never  get  another  shot  of  coke 
as  long  as  you  live,  Thorne !  Never  in  this  world ! 
You  are  coming  with  me  now,  coming  where  you 
will  never  need  coke  again !  Coming  to  your  death 
by  hanging  for  murder!  Not  another  shot  in  all 
this  world  will  you  ever  get! " 

With  a  shriek  that  was  more  animal's  than  man's, 
Thorne  suddenly  lunged  forward.  Quicker  than 
the  dart  of  a  snake's  head,  those  hands,  with  their 
long,  lean,  writhing  fingers,  had  twisted  around 
Lanagan's  neck.  With  a  strength  that  was  the 
strength  of  temporary  insanity,  he  flung  Lanagan 
from  him  and  fell  with  him.  Then,  like  a  lean 
gorilla,  he  shook  Lanagan's  head  from  side  to  side 
while  he  screeched  fearful  imprecations. 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     225 

"You  lie!  You  lie!  I'll  get  all  I  want! ,  That's 
what  he  said,  and  I  killed  him,  and  I'll  kill  you,  too! 
Yah!  Yeeah!"  He  trailed  away  into  a  maniacal 
scream. 

I  hurled  myself  at  him,  but  the  fiend,  for  the 
moment  at  least,  had  the  strength  of  three  men.  I 
finally  managed  to  get  in  a  blow  that  settled  him. 

Lanagan,  rubbing  his  bruised  neck  ruefully,  rose 
slowly.  He  was  panting  a  little  but  chuckling. 

"  Score  one  for  mental  suggestion  on  a  weak 
subject,"  he  laughed.  "  But  I  didn't  figure  those 
scrawny  hands  had  quite  that  much  strength.  This 
murder  is  clearer  than  print.  We  all  but  re-enacted 
the  scene. 

"  Now,  my  boy,  to  establish  the  connection  that 
would  bring  a  man  of  Swanson's  position  to  a  ren 
dezvous  at  the  Palace,  to  arouse  the  slumbering 
demon  in  this  human  orang-utang.  It's  rather  a 
commentary  on  that  hoary  police  doctrine  that  a 
dope  fiend  never  commits  murder.  I  was  right." 

Within  thirty  minutes  Chief  Leslie  and  Brady, 
and  Wilson,  his  right-hand  men,  were  in  the  room, 
and  Lanagan  swiftly  detailed  the  circumstances. 
Thorne  had  come  to  and  was  shaking  and  shiver 
ing  as  the  drug  wore  out  of  his  system,  leaving 
him  nerve-racked.  He  did  not  attempt  to  repu 
diate  his  utterance,  but  sullenly  admitted  the  mur 
der. 

In  view  of  the  words  overheard  by  See  Wong, 
there  was  but  one  person  to  clear  up  the  mystery. 


226  LANAGAN 

Leslie,  Lanagan  and  I  hurried  in  trie  chief's  machine 
to  the  Swanson  home,  nearly  midnight  as  it  was. 
That  they  had  had  Thorne  once  under  examination 
and  had  permitted  him  to  go  was  a  source  of  bitter 
chagrin  to  the  chief.  Thorne  showed  none  of  the 
ravages  of  the  habit  that  men  of  weaker  physique 
exhibited;  the  day  the  police  picked  him  up  he  had 
happened  to  be  comparatively  normal,  and  conse 
quently  he  had  passed  safely  through  the  quiz. 

Mrs.  Swanson  had  not  yet  retired,  and,  upon 
learning  that  the  chief  was  one  of  her  late  callers, 
summoned  us  at  once  to  the  drawing-room.  She 
had  one  of  those  splendid  faces  seen  occasionally  in 
the  aged,  where  strength  of  mind  or  religious  fer 
vour  has  brought  endurance  of  lifelong  secret  pain 
of  body  or  soul.  The  calmness  of  a  noble  resigna 
tion  looked  forth  in  a  slight  clouding  of  her  clear 
eyes  and  expressed  itself  in  the  faint  traces  of  sup 
pression  about  her  mobile  lips.  The  gleaming, 
snow-white  hair,  combed  straight  back  from  a  fore 
head  of  a  remarkable  breadth  in  a  woman,  invested 
her  like  an  aureole. 

She  was  a  woman  probably  of  sixty  years. 

"  You  will  appreciate,  gentlemen,  I  trust,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice  of  refined  modulation,  "  that  I 
have  endured  much  and  am  still  suffering." 

"  It  is  a  very  painful  errand  we  are  on,  Mrs. 
Swanson,  and  we  will  endeavour  to  be  brief,"  said 
Lanagan  in  a  voice  that  a  Chesterfield  might  have 
envied  for  courteous  inflection  and  gentleness  of 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     227 

expression,  "  but  nevertheless  it  is  an  errand  that 
must  be  performed."  He  glanced  at  the  chief,  who 
nodded. 

"  Speaking  as  a  newspaper  man,"  continued  Lan- 
agan,  "  it  is  my  wish  at  all  times  to  spare  the  feel 
ings  of  those,  particularly  women,  with  whom  I  am 
brought  into  relation.  But  the  true  newspaper  man 
is  a  seeker  after  truth,  and  he  must  follow  as  definite 
a  path  as  the  police  follow." 

There  was  an  eloquent  pause.  She  gazed  from 
one  to  the  other  during  the  interim,  as  though  striv 
ing  to  read  their  thoughts.  It  was  evident  that  the 
undercurrent  that  these  skilled  cross-examiners  in 
tended  to  convey  had  carried  home. 

"  Well  ?  "  finally.  Neither  Lanagan  nor  Leslie 
spoke.  There  was  another  pause.  She  said  at  last : 
"  You  have  some  information  to  impart  to  me?  Or 
some  information  to  seek?  " 

"  We  desire  to  inform  you,"  said  Leslie  slowly, 
and  with  just  a  shade  more  of  hardness  in  his  tone 
as  the  detective  began  to  work  in  him,,  "  that  we 
have  under  arrest  the  confessed  murderer  of  your 
husband." 

She  leaned  involuntarily  forward  in  her  chair 
and  grasped  the  arms  so  hard  that  her  knuckles 
showed  white  through  the  fair  skin  of  her  hands. 

"  And  we  desire  to  inform  you,"  added  Lanagan 
quickly,  "  that  the  name  of  your  husband's  mur 
derer  is  Charles  Thorne;  and  we  desire  to  ask  you 
what  the  motive  was  for  the  murder  of  your  hus- 


228  LANAGAN 

band  by  Charles  Thorne;  and  why,  when  you  sus 
pected  that  Charles  Thorne  was  the  murderer,  you 
did  not  immediately  notify  the  police?  " 

Her  hands  slowly  relaxed  their  grip  on  the  chair 
arms  as  she  sank  back  into  its  depths.  Curiously, 
in  the  way  the  light  struck  down  at  her  hair  and  her 
face,  it  seemed  that  the  beautiful  halo  of  white  that 
had  invested  her,  and  the  delicate,  well-preserved 
whiteness  of  her  skin,  turned  suddenly  to  dirty  grey. 
If  ever  the  blight  of  age  settled  visibly  in  fact  or 
in  fiction,  it  settled  upon  her  then. 

"  You  —  have  —  Charles  —  Thorne  —  under  — 
arrest  ?  "  she  said,  and  her  very  tone  was  grey.  She 
did  not  deny  the  truth  of  the  charge;  she  did  not 
express  satisfaction  that  the  murderer  was  found; 
she  merely  asked  whether  they  had  Charles  Thorne 
under  arrest. 

"  Yes." 

Her  eyes  closed  and  her  head  dropped  suddenly 
back  against  the  chair.  We  stepped  swiftly  for 
ward,  but  before  we  could  take  any  measures  to  re 
vive  her,  her  eyes  had  opened  again.  The  lips 
moved.  She  was  speaking,  but  so  gaspingly  that 
we  bent  to  hear. 

"  It  is  the  end  of  the  long  night,"  she  said  with 
many  halts;  "the  end  of  the  long  night.  A  life's 
nightmare  is  done.  God  have  mercy  on  me  — " 

She  stopped  completely.     Then: 

"  God  pity  all  mothers  who  bear  as  I  bore  — " 

Another  long  pause.     She  was  by  strong  effort 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     229 

retaining  the  clarity  of  her  faculties  under  some 
heavy  shock.  She  repeated: 

"Who  bear  as  I  bore!" 

The  silence  became  acutely  poignant. 

"  It  must  be  told,"  she  breathed  finally.  "  You 
have  asked  me  why  I  did  not  tell  you  my  suspicions. 
I  will  tell  you  now.  Charles  Thorne  — 

Her  next  words  came  so  low  that  had  it  not  been 
for  the  pregnant  silence  of  the  great  drawing-room 
they  could  not  have  been  heard. 

"  Is  my  son." 

I  found  I  had  been  holding  my  breath;  and  I 
glanced  quickly  at  Lanagan,  to  see  his  breast  falling 
with  a  deep  exhalation. 

"  My  husband  did  not  know,"  she  continued, 
colourlessly.  "  Charles  Thorne  does  not  know  I 
am  his  mother.  I  have  tried  to  live  a  full  Christian 
life.  I  have  given  by  tens  of  thousands  to  aid  the 
erring.  I  have  thought  to  make  all  atonement.  .  .  . 

"  And  yet  the  blood  of  my  blood  slew  the  heart 
of  my  heart,  my  dear  husband,  one  of  God's  noble 
men.  .  .  ." 

After  that  wrenching  confession  her  normal  poise 
began  by  degrees  to  return  as  the  strength  of  an  ex 
traordinary  mind  began  to  assert  itself.  The  story 
was  soon  told:  of  an  alliance  before  her  marriage  to 
Swanson,  of  the  boy,  taken  by  the  father,  to  be  sent 
back  to  her  after  fifteen  years.  The  dissolute 
father,  on  his  deathbed,  sent  Charles  back  to  the. 
mother. 


230  LANAGAN 

For  fifteen  years  since  that  day  she  had  steadily 
stood  sponsor  for  the  boy.  To  her  husband  he  was 
but  one  of  the  many  others  of  her  objects  of  charity. 
It  may  be  said  the  boy  inherited  the  dissolute  traits 
of  his  father.  Finally,  her  own  children  by  Swan- 
son  all  marrying,  that  profound  mysterious  quality 
of  motherhood  prompted  her  to  make  one  last  effort 
to  redeem  the  boy  under  her  own  eyes,  and  she 
adopted  the  dangerous  course,  for  her,  of  bringing 
him  to  the  house  as  a  chauffeur. 

That  he  was  given  to  drugs  she  did  not  know. 
Thorne  had  been  caught  in  a  series  of  petty  thefts. 
Swanson  had  finally  been  compelled  to  discharge 
him.  He  had  left  the  house  with  maledictions  upon 
Swanson.  Instinctively  she  had  felt  he  was  the 
author  of  the  crime. 

Considering  all  of  these  circumstances,  and  under 
standing  the  character  of  the  fiend  and  his  paternity, 
it  is  evident  that  in  his  brain,  constantly  weakening 
under  drugs,  became  fixed  a  sinister  purpose  to 
work  out  some  scheme  of  revenge  on  Swanson  for 
driving  him  from  a  rich  home  and  a  cozy  living, 
with  ample  funds  and  opportunity  for  a  secret  in 
dulgence  in  his  weakness. 

As  it  subsequently  appeared,  Thorne  did  not 
originally  plan  murder.  Some  abortive  scheme  of 
blackmail  had  but  half  formed  in  his  crazy  brain. 
He  lured  Swanson  with  a  cunning  letter,  full  of  ex 
plicit  directions,  to  the  Palace  Hotel  by  writing  that 
he  was  seriously  ill  there.  He  begged  that  Mrs. 


THE  END  OF  THE  LONG  NIGHT     231 

Swanson  be  not  informed  until  after  Swanson  had 
seen  him.  He  wanted  an  opportunity  to  redeem 
himself,  he  wrote;  and  Swanson,  as  warm-hearted 
as  his  wife,  and  not  caring  evidently  to  worry  her 
needlessly  about  the  condition  of  one  of  her  charges 
until  he  had  made  an  investigation,  set  out  on  his 
errand  of  humanity,  never  to  return. 

He  wore  his  ulster,  obviously  so  that  he  would 
not  be  recognised  going  alone  into  the  Palace  Ho 
tel.  In  the  subcellar  he  had  met  Thorne.  There 
was  a  prolonged  talk,  and  Swanson  made  the  mis 
take  of  chiding  the  fiend  on  his  habits.  Desire  com 
ing  upon  him  strongly,  Thorne  finally  exhibited  him 
self  in  all  his  ugly  weakness,  and  the  spectacle  was 
too  much  for  the  eyes  of  Swanson,  unaccustomed  to 
such  sights.  He  was  stooping  his  way  out  of  the 
little  room  after  sternly  refusing  Thome's  appeal 
for  money,  when  the  long,  lean  fingers  of  the  half- 
insane  man,  with  some  congenital  strain  outcrop 
ping  perhaps  of  that  vagabond,  dissolute  father, 
found  an  easy  goal  in  a  man  already  half -suffocated 
in  the  thick  air  of  the  place. 

Alarmed,  when  his  fit  had  passed,  at  what  he  had 
done,  and  fearing  to  rob  the  body,  Thorne  had 
quakingly  slipped  into  Swanson's  ulster  and  made 
his  way  in  terror  to  his  own  room.  First  he  had 
journeyed  to  the  foot  of  Powell  Street,  weighted  the 
coat  with  a  rock,  and  cast  it  into  the  water  of  the 
bay.  It  was  subsequently  recovered  and  served  as 
the  single  bit  of  incriminating  evidence  to  substan- 


232  LANAGAN 

tiate  his  confession.  His  letter  to  Swanson,  in 
Swanson's  pocket,  he  had  taken  with  him  to  destroy 
by  tearing  into  fine  bits. 

Such  were  the  salient  features  of  a  most  extraor 
dinary  crime  as  ultimately  established. 

But  to  return  to  Mrs.  Swanson's  drawing-room, 
where  Lanagan  is  speaking: 

"  Charles  Thorne  does  not  know,  then,  that  you 
are  his  mother?  " 

"  He  does  not  know." 

"Who  does  know?" 

"  No  living  person  save  myself  and  you  gentle 
men." 

"  In  that  case,  then,  Mrs.  Swanson,"  said  Lana 
gan  simply,  "  your  secret  will  die  with  us." 

She  choked  in  attempting  to  speak,  and,  tears 
streaming  from  her  eyes,  bade  us  each  adieu. 
For  my  part  I  confess  I  was  blinking  like  a  boy. 
The  outer  doors  closed  behind  us.  Then: 

"  Back  to  the  room  for  you,  chief,"  snapped  Lan 
agan  laconically.  "Throw  Thorne  in  at  2:1$. 
Charles  Thorne,  a  former  chauffeur,  murdered 
Swanson  after  attempted  blackmail  failed.  You 
stand,  of  course,  chief?  " 

"  Stand,  Jack  ?  "  replied  that  sterling  officer,  "  it's 
in  so  deep  it  can  only  come  out  when  the  last  drop 
leaves  my  veins." 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Lanagan.  "  Now,  Norrie," 
sharply,  "  get  together !  We  have  exactly  fifty-five 
minutes  to  press  time!" 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN 

AMPSON,"  said  Lanagan,  "  there's  some- 
thing  queer  about  that  Robbins  case.  Pro 
fessional  second  story  men  aren't  returning  to  the 
scene  of  a  $10,000  burglary  and  sending  by  mes 
senger  a  written  proposition  to  return  the  property 
for  a  cash  settlement.  They  know  how  and  where 
to  negotiate  the  stuff  and  they  take  no  chances ;  par 
ticularly  not  with  one  of  their  number  under  arrest 
—  assuming  the  Ward  boy  is  one  of  them.  And 
that  is  another  queer  angle:  seasoned  crooks  don't 
operate  with  sixteen-year-old  boys." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  the  ring  found  on 
him?" 

"I  don't  — yet." 

"What's  your  theory?" 

"  Haven't  any.  But  ten  '  second-story '  cases  in 
three  months  in  one  district  winding  up  with  a  $10,- 
ooo  job  is  against  all  form." 

"  Dig  into  it  then.  Here,  see  who  this  is  as  you 
go  out.  May  be  about  the  suspect.  Same  name." 

He  handed  Lanagan  a  visitor's  card.  Scrawled 
across  it  in  a  nervous  hand  was :  "  Jennie  Ward. 
Important." 

In  the  ante-room  a  girl  with  a  crutch  arose  to 
235 


236  LANAGAN 

meet  him,  but  he  motioned  her  back  to  her  seat. 
She  had  the  pinched  face  and  the  wistful  sadness 
of  those  condemned  to  life  but  half-whole.  It  was 
evident  before  she  spoke  a  dozen  words  that  she 
came  as  so  many  others  come  to  the  newspaper  ante 
room  :  in  futile,  uncomprehending  protest  at  the  en 
tire  system  of  News. 

It  was  her  brother,  Jimmy,  who  was  under  arrest, 
and  she  said  he  was  innocent.  Jimmy  told  her  he 
found  the  ring,  therefore  he  did  find  it,  because 
Jimmy  never  told  her  a  lie.  She  did  not  see  why 
papers  should  print  such  things,  even  if  he  had  been 
arrested,  and  why  they  did  not  try  to  prove  a  boy 
innocent  rather  than  aid  the  police  in  trying  to  prove 
him  guilty. 

Lanagan  listened  patiently  at  first,  with  an  occa 
sional  question;  and  then  he  listened  with  a  deepen 
ing  interest  as  the  girl's  fervour  grew. 

"  It  is  only  the  rich  whose  wrongs  you  right !  " 
she  exclaimed  at  last  passionately.  "  What  rights 
have  we  poor?  I  cannot  afford  even  a  lawyer. 
Mamma  does  washing.  She  is  old  and  timid,  and  she 
was  afraid  to  come  to  the  papers.  I  mostly  educated 
myself,  sir;  I  had  to.  I  have  learned  the  piano  at 
the  Sunday  school.  I  have  a  little  class  of  pupils 
there.  The  teacher  helps  me  get  them.  I  just 
teach  the  first  lessons,  you  know.  I  make  $4.25 
a  week.  Mamma  makes  about  $7  when  she  is  not 
sick.  Jimmy  has  been  making  $8,  with  a  raise  to 
$9.50  coming  the  first.  So  you  see  we  manage  to 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  237 

make  out,  all  of  us  together,  and  send  my  three  little 
brothers  to  school. 

"  And  now  —  now  —  all  the  people  on  the  street 
are  talking  about  us  and  my  little  brothers  won't  go 
to  school  —  the  others  call  them  names  —  everyone 
saw  Jimmy's  picture  in  your  paper  to-day  — 

"  Won't  you  please  help  us  ?  We  haven't  any 
men  folks  to  fight  for  us  now  with  Jimmy  locked 
up.  Please,  sir,  help  us  get  Jimmy  out ! 

"  I  went  to  police  headquarters  and  waited 
hours  and  hours  to  see  Jimmy  —  and  then  —  and 
then  finally  the  detectives  —  they  took  me  and  said 
I  would  see  Jimmy  —  but  they  took  me  to  a  room 
and  shut  the  door  —  and  they  swore  at  me  — 

"  They  said  I  —  better  tell  everything  or  go  to  — 
jail  —  why  —  why  they  talked  like  /  —  knew  about 
the  robbery  and  they  were  —  going  —  to  arrest  — 
me—" 

She  fainted;  just  drooped  quietly  back  into  the 
chair,  wearily,  hopelessly,  woefully,  without  so  much 
as  a  sigh.  Lanagan  breathed  quickly  as  he  minis 
tered  to  her. 

"  Poor  little  sis !  "  he  said,  softly.  "  Plucky  little 
mother  of  the  tenements!  Taking  a  full-grown 
man's  place !  But  what  a  handicap !  " 

Her  eyes  opened.  "  Oh,"  she  fluttered,  her  thin, 
sensitive  lips  quivering  in  apology,  "  I  fainted,  didn't 
I  ?  How  queer.  I  never  fainted  before.  I  cannot 
afford  to  give  way  like  that.  Sometimes,  though! 
Oh,  sometimes  I  wish  I  could !  I  wanted  to  in  front 


238  LANAGAN 

of  the  detectives  —  my  brain  whirled  and  whirled 
and  whirled  with  fire  like  pinwheels  but  I  wouldn't 
—  I  wouldn't  give  them  the  satisfaction!"  Her 
slight  hands  with  their  long  fingers  clenched;  her 
eyes  sparkled.  "  Harrigan.  That  is  his  name. 
He  was  the  worst.  The  brute !  oh,  if  I  were  a  man ! 
I  would  kill  him  for  what  he  said  to  me ! " 

"  Never  mind  Harrigan.  Leave  him  to  me,"  said 
Lanagan.  "  You  are  only  exciting  yourself.  Go 
home  now  and  try  not  to  worry.  .We  are  going  to 
look  into  your  brother's  case." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  shining  eyes.  There 
were  at  no  time  any  tears.  She  had  been  trained  in 
a  life  where  tears  are  inadequate. 

Lanagan  watched  her  as  she  hobbled  on  her  one 
crutch  down  the  hall  to  the  elevator,  her  useless  limb 
swinging  loosely.  She  was  a  pathetic  little  figure, 
with  her  man's  brain,  her  grown  woman's  pride,  and 
her  little  misshapen  body;  a  fourteen  year  old  girl, 
wearing  "  long  clothes  "  in  grim  earnest.  A  quick 
pang  shot  through  him;  cripples  always  saddened 
him.  They  have  infinitely  so  much  less  than  the 
meanest  wastrel  who  has  health. 

"  The  judgment  of  a  cold-blooded  detective 
against  the  judgment  of  a  loyal  sister,"  mused  Lana 
gan.  "Which  is  it?" 

An  hour's  study  at  police  headquarters  of  the  re 
ports  on  all  ten  of  the  burglaries  established  in 
Lanagan's  mind  one  settled  conviction:  they  were 
all  committed  by  the  same  author,  and  whoever  it 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  239 

was  —  whether  an  individual  or  a  gang  —  had  first 
become  reasonably  familiar  with  the  interior  ar 
rangements  of  the  houses  entered,  and  with  the  daily 
routine  of  the  households. 

In  the  Robbins  case,  for  instance,  from  the  time 
the  last  member  of  the  household  left  the  bedroom, 
or  second  floor,  to  go  down  to  the  dining-room  on 
the  first  floor  for  dinner,  until  a  member  of  the 
household  returning  upstairs  found  the  evidences  of 
the  burglary,  only  twenty-five  minutes  had  passed; 
and  yet  in  that  time  the  thief  or  thieves  had  entered 
the  house  and  had  left  it  after  cleanly  ransacking 
three  bedrooms.  An  open  bathroom  window  and. 
the  drain  pipe  to  the  ground  gave  mute  evidence  of 
the  burglar's  route. 

In  all  of  the  cases  only  precious  stones  were  taken : 
nothing  monogrammed  was  touched,  nor  watches, 
silverware,  trinkets  or  bric-a-brac.  But  this  was  of 
no  particular  consequence.  The  average  expert 
thief  prefers  the  precious  stones.  Removed  from 
their  settings  they  are  difficult  to  identify  and  easy 
to  negotiate. 

"  Professional  work,  all  of  it,"  muttered  Lana- 
gan,  arguing  to  himself.  "  But  what  about  that 
message  ?  " 

The  extraordinary  boldness  that  had  marked  all 
the  crimes  culminated  in  the  Robbins  case  when  a 
man,  with  smoked  glasses,  heavy  moustache,  soft 
hat  pulled  down  and  ulster  turned  up,  gave  a  small 
boy  ten  cents  to  carry  an  envelope  to  the  Robbins 


24o  LANAGAN 

home,  but  a  block  from  where  the  man  stood.  En 
closed  in  the  message,  which  offered  to  return  the 
jewelry  for  $5,000  cash,  was  a  brooch  that  had  been 
among  the  articles  stolen.  It  was  sent  as  proof  that 
the  offer  was  genuine.  The  message  said  the  police 
were  not  to  be  notified.  If  the  family  desired  to 
negotiate,  they  were  to  send  the  boy  back  with  the 
single  word,  "  Yes,"  and  they  would  be  communi 
cated  with  later. 

In  the  excitement  of  receiving  the  message  under 
such  singular  circumstances  a  member  of  the  fam 
ily,  forgetting  or  disregarding  the  caution,  tele 
phoned  the  police,  holding  the  boy  in  the  house. 
The  police  misunderstood  the  call,  and  a  patrol 
wagon  load  of  reserves  clattered  up  to  the  door 
within  ten  minutes,  under  the  impression  murder 
was  being  done. 

Naturally,  the  man  on  the  corner  had  ample  time 
to  escape.  No  further  offers  to  negotiate  came  to 
the  family.  On  the  second  day  the  police  placed 
under  arrest  the  Ward  boy.  He  was  employed  as  a 
helper  with  the  Phcenix  Vacuum  Cleaning  Company, 
which  had  been  engaged  a  few  days  before  at  the 
Robbins  home. 

"  And  at  the  start  he  made  a  bad  case,  superfi 
cially,  by  his  contradictions,"  reflected  Lanagan,  re 
viewing  the  case. 

In  their  investigations  the  detectives,  examining 
the  two  men  and  the  helper,  Jimmie  Ward,  who  had 
operated  the  cleaning  apparatus  at  the  .Robbins 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  241 

house,  learned  that  the  boy  had  been  noticed  that 
morning  examining  a  diamond  ring.  Asked  where 
he  got  it,  he  had  replied  he  found  it  on  the  floor  of 
the  washroom  at  the  establishment.  No  one  claimed 
the  ring.  The  matter  was  called  to  the  attention  of 
Cutting,  the  proprietor  and  manager  of  the  com 
pany,  but  he  knew  of  no  customer  having  reported 
such  a  loss. 

The  detectives  —  Harrigan  and  Thomas  —  took 
the  boy  to  headquarters  for  further  questioning,  and 
he  had  there  said  he  found  the  ring  on  the  sidewalk. 
On  that  contradiction  he  was  placed  under  arrest 
and  locked  up  in  detinue. 

Further,  the  police  regarded  as  damaging  the  fact 
that  a  robbery  a  week  previous  had  been  committed 
in  the  same  neighbourhood  in  a  home  where  the 
cleaning  apparatus  had  been  engaged,  the  Ward  boy 
serving  as  the  helper  in  that  house  also.  He  had 
worked  with  a  different  crew  of  men  than  had  been 
on  the  Robbins  house,  and  this  fact,  in  the  police 
theory,  eliminated  the  remaining  employees  of  the 
company  as  it  was  highly  improbable  that  they  were 
all  in  a  "  second  story  "  ring.  They  redoubled  their 
efforts  to  find  the  supposed  connections  of  Ward  on 
the  theory  that  he  operated  with  an  outside  gang. 

"  '  Jimmy  said  he  found  the  ring  and  if  he  said  he 
found  it  he  did  find  it,'  "  said  Lanagan,  repeating  the 
sister's  earnest  declaration.  "  Well,  for  her  sake  — 
I  hope  he  did." 

Hour  after  hour  Lanagan,  tirelessly,  kept  at  his 


242  LANAGAN 

rounds,  visiting  in  turn  each  of  the  ten  homes  in  the 
western  addition  that  had  been  robbed  during  the 
last  three  months. 

Long  before  he  reached  the  Robbins  home,  the 
last  of  the  ten,  he  had  formed  his  startling  theory. 
In  nine  of  the  cases  he  had  discovered  that  which 
he  set  out  in  search  of :  a  constant  condition  present 
in  them  all.  There  was  just  one  question  that  he 
wanted  to  ask  at  the  Robbins  home. 

He  found  the  home  in  a  flurry  of  excitement. 
Police  headquarters  had  rung  up  and  asked  that  a 
member  of  the  household  come  at  once  to  the  de 
tective  bureau  to  identify  if  possible  a  bracelet  that 
it  was  believed  had  been  among  the  stolen  articles 
and  that  had  been  recovered. 

Lanagan,  arriving  just  as  the  senior  Robbins  was 
leaving  in  his  automobile,  was  invited  to  accompany 
him.  He  did  so ;  but  first  he  had  asked  and  had  had 
answered  the  one  question  he  came  to  ask. 

In  the  office  of  O'Rourke,  night  captain  of  de 
tectives,  they  found  O'Rourke,  Harrigan  and 
Thomas  grouped  around  a  woman,  huddled  down  on 
a  chair.  Lanagan  caught  a  low  sob,  a  helpless,  for 
lorn,  frightened  sob,  that  sent  a  curious  sensation  of 
nausea  through  him.  He  stepped  quickly  forward 
to  gaze  down  upon  the  misery-racked  form  of  the 
cripple,  Jennie  Ward. 

"  I  don't  know  anything !  Oh,  I  don't  know  any 
thing  !  "  she  wailed.  "  I  found  it  on  the  door  step !  " 

O'Rourke    had    turned    as    they    entered.     He 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  243 

stepped  to  his  own  desk,  holding  the  bracelet  toward 
Robbins. 

"  That  is  my  daughter's  bracelet,  sir,"  Robbins 
said.  "  It  was  my  Christmas  present  to  her." 

Harrigan,  listening,  nodded  in  satisfaction. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said.  "  I  guess  we  had  better 
throw  the  little  gutter  snipe  in,  cap ;  a  little  pressure 
now  and  she's  bound  to  squeal." 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh !  "  Sobs  were  shuddering  from  the 
girl. 

"  Squeal!  You  damned  clodhopper !  Give  her  a 
bullet  and  kill  her  now  if  you  are  trying  to!  You 
don't  throw  her  in !  " 

It  was  Lanagan.  He  had  whirled  from  the  hud 
dled  form  to  send  the  words  cutting  through  the 
air  at  Harrigan  like  a  whiplash.  The  girl  flung  up 
a  white  face  in  a  swift  look  of  wild  hope. 

"I  don't  know  anything,  Mr.  Lanagan!  Don't 
let  them  put  me  In  jail! " 

She  threw  herself  from  her  chair  in  an  attempt  to 
clasp  his  arm  but  her  withered  and  shrunken  limb 
crumpled  under  her  and  she  sank  to  the  floor  with  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain.  Lanagan  leaned  and  lifted  her 
to  the  chair. 

Harrigan  had  an  ugly  look  as  he  measured  the  dis 
tance  from  himself  to  Lanagan. 

:t  Yes,  Harrigan ;  you  rotten  thief.  Clodhopper 
is  too  mild  for  you !  " 

;<  You  bum,"  said  Harrigan,  with  deadly  level- 
ness.  "  You  drunken  bum." 


244  LANAGAN 

Lanagan's  leap  was  catlike.  It  took  all  the  mighty 
O'Rourke's  strength  to  tear  his  fingers  free.  Lana- 
gan  was  not  a  Queensbury  fighter  when  tackling  two 
hundred  pounds  of  policeman.  O'Rourke  had  Har- 
rigan  by  the  arms.  Thomas  had  Lanagan.  For  a 
second  or  two  there  was  not  a  sound  but  the  panting 
of  grappling  men.  Then  discipline  told.  Harri- 
gan's  arms  relaxed. 

"  You  are  relieved  from  duty,  Officer  Harrigan," 
said  O'Rourke.  "  Until  I  lay  the  matter  of  your 
insubordination  before  the  Chief." 

The  detective  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  from 
the  room,  stopping  at  the  door.  "  I'll  get  you,  Lana 
gan,"  he  said.  Lanagan  ignored  him. 

"  Now,  Jack,"  said  O'Rourke,  grimly,  as  Thomas 
freed  the  reporter.  "  Why  won't  we  throw  this  girl 
in?" 

"  Because,"  said  Lanagan,  still  breathing  heavily, 
"  she  is  innocent." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  I  know.  That  is  enough.  If  you  won't  take 
my  word  ring  up  the  Chief  and  he  will." 

O'Rourke  knew  the  close  friendship  between  Lan 
agan  and  Chief  Leslie  and  the  confidence  the  chief 
had  in  his  judgment.  He  gazed  doubtfully  at  the 
girl  and  then  at  Robbins.  Secretly,  he  respected 
Lanagan  also  and  he  was  impressed  by  Lanagan's  as 
surance. 

"  We  aren't  justified  in  holding  the  girl,"  he  said 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  245 

to  Robbins.  Then  to  Lanagan :  "  All  right.  You 
win." 

But  as  Lanagan  left  the  room  with  the  girl  to  send 
her  home  in  the  police  automobile,  O'Rourke  had  an 
afterthought.  He  turned  to  Thomas. 

"  We  might  just  as  well  cover  up.  Watch  the 
house  to-night.  There's  something  queer  about  this 
whole  business  that  I  don't  get  yet." 

"  Whatever  happens  keep  calm  until  I  see  you 
again,"  was  Lanagan's  last  counsel  to  the  girl. 
Through  the  scene  in  O'Rourke's  office  she  had  kept 
crouched  down  in  her  chair,  watching  with  wide 
eyes ;  save  for  one  quickly  shrilled :  "  Give  it  to 
him!"  as  Lanagan's  sinewy  fingers  twined  around 
Harrigan's  throat. 

"  It  was  terrible  of  me  to  say  that,  wasn't  it?" 
she  asked.  "  But  I  couldn't  help  it !  He  is  a  bad 
man!  I  feel  it!" 

"  He's  what  we  call  a  '  wrong '  detective,"  said 
Lanagan,  drily.  "  Don't  think  about  him  any 
more." 

"  Let  me  have  Norton,"  he  said,  some  moments 
later  to  Sampson,  and  to  me  he  said : 

"I  want  you  to  cover  211  Clementina  Street. 
Don't  bother  anybody.  Just  see  who  goes  in  or  out 
or  hangs  around  there.  I'll  pick  you  up  later  down 
there.  Wait  for  me  no  matter  what  happens." 

He  jumped  into  a  taxicab  at  the  curbing  and 
whirled  away  out  Market  Street.  I  hastened  to  my 


246  LANAGAN 

station,  in  that  gloomy,  narrow  street  of  rookeries. 
Almost  opposite  211  was  a  deep  doorway.  I  flat 
tened  back  in  the  shadows,  trusting  to  luck  that  the 
occupants  were  all  in  bed  and  that  no  one  would 
walk  up  on  me.  I  was  not  bothered.  An  hour 
passed  and  another.  I  heard  someone  come  out  of 
a  house  a  few  doors  above  me  and  saunter  down  the 
street  toward  me.  I  huddled  back.  The  figure 
passed  within  six  feet  of  me.  By  the  dim  rays  of 
the  gas  lamp  on  the  corner,  throwing  its  feeble  area 
of  light  a  dozen  yards,  I  recognised  Detective 
Thomas. 

He  slipped  into  the  side  door  of  the  corner  saloon. 
"  Off  his  job,  whatever  it  is,"  I  said  to  myself. 
"  Something  should  happen  now.  It  usually  does 
in  such  cases." 

It  did.  Noiselessly  on  the  opposite  sidewalk  passed 
a  figure  in  a  heavy  black  overcoat  with  a  high  col 
lar  turned  up  around  the  ears  and  a  soft  hat  pulled 
down.  In  front  of  21 1  the  figure  stopped  for  a  frac 
tion  of  a  second,  it  may  have  been  to  look  for  some 
thing  that  had  been  dropped;  but  it  appeared  to  me 
to  fumble  an  instant  by  the  steps.  The  figure  then 
passed  rapidly  on. 

Thomas,  a  fresh  cigar  between  his  teeth,  sauntered 
back  to  his  post.  The  figure  that  had  stopped  at 
211  had  disappeared  around  the  corner  at  Seventh 
Street.  Thomas  had  certainly  missed  the  episode 
entirely. 

There  was  a  long  interval.    The  door  at  211 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  247 

opened,  slowly.  A  girl  came  out,  finally;  a  girl 
with  a  crutch.  She  came  down  the  three  steps, 
looked  up  and  down  and  across  the  street,  and  sud 
denly  dropped  down  and  I  could  see  that  she  was 
rummaging  in  the  space  under  the  stairs. 

Stepping  easily,  I  saw  Thomas,  his  cigar  still  puff 
ing  leisurely,  cross  the  street.  He  was  almost  beside 
the  girl  before  she  saw  him.  There  came  a  faint 
cry  of  alarm,  quickly  smothered,  as  she  straightened 
up,  her  back  to  the  house.  I  walked  quickly  to  them 
in  time  to  hear  Thomas's  voice : 

"  Well,  miss,  find  any  presents  ?  Little  late  for 
Santa  Claus,  isn't  it?  But  let's  see.  Let's  just  see 
what  you  were  looking  for  under  those  stairs." 

He  dropped  to  his  knees,  threw  his  pocket  flash 
about,  and  arose,  a  small  package  wrapped  in  a  news 
paper  in  his  hand.  The  girl  was  staring  with 
startled,  wide  eyes.  She  was  breathing  quickly,  her 
thin  bosom  rising  and  falling.  Thomas  wheeled  on 
me,  was  about  to  snap  at  me,  thought  better  of  it, 
and  remarked : 

"  Oh,  well,  you're  dropped  to  me.  I  might  as  well 
let  you  in." 

He  tore  off  the  paper  wrapping  from  the  package 
and  in  the  flash  of  his  pocket  light  I  saw  the  glitter 
of  a  pair  of  diamond  ear  drops. 

"  Do  you  make  them  ?  "  he  asked,  triumphantly. 
I  nodded.  The  jewels  unquestionably  answered  the 
description  of  those  stolen  from  the  Robbins  home. 
It  came  to  me  like  a  physical  blow,  the  shock  that 


248  LANAGAN 

such  a  frail,  broken  bit  of  humanity  as  the  little 
back  alley  waif  before  me  was  entangled  in  a  thieves' 
gang.  I  knew  she  was  the  suspect's  sister.  She  still 
held  her  defiant  place  against  the  house. 

"  I  guess  this  time,  young  lady,  you  will  go  in," 
said  Thomas,  tersely.  "  Do  you  want  anything 
from  the  house?  Got  any  thing  to  say?  You  are 
going  to  jail." 

She  began  to  tremble  violently,  but  her  lips  were 
still  compressed. 

"  No,"  she  managed  to  say  at  last.  "  No !  I 
was  watching !  I  know  now !  I  know !  But  I  will 
not  talk  to  you !  Please  don't  waken  my  mamma  or 
my  little  brothers  —  let  us  go  —  now  —  if  I  must." 
She  started  to  hobble  away  in  feverish  haste,  shaken 
with  sobs  that  she  would  not  permit  to  escape  her 
lips.  Seldom  have  I  been  affected  with  such  a  sense 
of  sadness  as  came  over  me  then :  all  of  the  tragedy 
that  would  have  been  in  the  situation  with  even  a 
whole  girl  under  such  circumstances  was  doubled  by 
her  condition. 

"  Got  her  dead  to  rights  that  time,"  chuckled 
Thomas  to  me.  "  She'll  spill  now  sure.  The  rest 
of  the  stuff  must  be  cached  around  here  somewhere." 

"  You  think  there  is  no  question  about  the  Ward 
boy  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  the  slightest.  And  she  is  in  and  is  covering 
up.  They're  all  crooked,  these  back  alley  rats. 
There's  more  in  the  gang,  of  course.  That  stuff 
was  put  there,  I  suppose,  to-night,  for  her  to 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  249 

'  shove.'  Probably  she  peddles  it.  You  never  can 
tell  how  these  gangs  operate." 

I  glanced  again  at  the  pitiable  little  misshapen 
thing  dragged  away  from  her  home  to  a  cell  and  an 
iron  bed  at  the  city  prison  and  I  couldn't  trust  my 
self  to  reply  to  Thomas. 

By  a  curious  change  that  is  gradually  making  me 
less  valuable  as  a  newspaper  man  the  older  I  become 
in  the  business,  I  find  myself  unconsciously  taking 
sides  against  my  paper  with  fellow  beings  whose 
frailties  or  sorrows  make  them  grist  for  the  news 
paper  mill.  I  felt  so  toward  this  poor  girl  now,  a 
victim  of  congenial  influence  in  all  likelihood;  ob 
viously  a  product  of  the  malnutrition  of  the  under 
classes. 

Thomas  took  his  prisoner  away  in  a  taxi  and  I 
hurried  to  a  telephone  and  gave  the  story  to  Sampson 
in  that  fashion.  I  then  hastened  back  to  Clementina 
Street,  where  to  my  great  relief,  I  was  picked  up  by 
Lanagan  within  a  few  moments. 

I  related  everything  to  him.  When  I  had  finished 
his  eyes  shone  more  brightly  than  the  gas  jet  over 
our  heads.  Never  had  I  beheld  him  so  far  from  the 
composure  for  which  he  was  noted.  For  a  minute 
or  two  he  anathematised  O'Rourke  by  all  the  carded 
oaths  and  a  few  that  he  invented. 

"Back,  back  in  jail,  is  she!  So,  O'Rourke 
couldn't  take  my  word!  We'll  see,  oh,  we'll  see! 
Wait." 

He  ran  up  the  steps  to  211.     After  a  long  period, 


250  LANAGAN 

the  door  opened.  It  was  the  mother.  Briefly  Lan- 
agan  explained  what  had  happened.  The  poor  old 
toothless  soul  was  about  past  being  shocked  further. 
But  quickly  Lanagan,  in  that  compelling  way  of 
his,  calmed  her  fears.  He  promised  that  she  would 
have  her  son  and  daughter  back  —  before  daylight. 

Before  daylight!     It  fairly  took  my  breath  away. 

"  What  is  it,  Jack?  Give  me  a  line,"  I  demanded 
in  excitement.  "  Heavens,  man,  it's  quarter  to  two ! 
How  are  you  going  to  get  a  story  in  the  paper  to 
night  now  ?  You'll  only  break  it  for  all  the  papers." 

Lanagan  stopped  short  in  his  rapid  walk  and  laid 
his  hand  on  my  shoulders. 

"  I've  been  in  this  game  fifteen  years,  Norrie,"  he 
said,  with  a  solemnity  new  in  him.  "  Let  me  tell 
you  something,  and  I  say  it  who  have  the  right: 
there  comes  a  time  just  once  every  so  often  when  a 
newspaper  man  puts  humanity  above  his  paper.  Re 
member  that.  You  are  betraying  no  trust  with  your 
paper  when  you  do;  you  are  betraying  your  trust 
with  yourself,  with  your  fellow  man,  and  with  your 
conscience  when  you  do  not.  This  is  one  of  them." 

That  was  all.  But  many  times  in  the  years  that 
have  whirled  by  since  then  and  since  that  strange, 
marvellous  man  passed  out  of  the  newspaper  life  of 
the  west,  have  those  words  come  back  out  of  the 
dark  of  a  back  alley,  to  guide  me. 

He  was  not  working  for  an  "  exclusive  "  now ;  he 
was  working  to  free  a  mite  of  a  cripple  girl  and  her 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  251 

stunned  and  misused  brother  from  the  inner  tier  of 
cells  at  the  city  prison. 

He  said  no  more.  At  Market  Street  he  flung 
open  a  taxicab  door  and  we  jumped  in.  He  called 
an  address  to  the  driver.  It  was  Chief  Leslie's 
home.  We  were  there  within  fifteen  minutes. 
Lanagan  held  his  finger  on  the  button  until  the  door 
swung  open  and  the  Chief  himself  appeared, 
wrapped  in  a  lounging  robe,  his  hair  tousled,  his 
beard  rumpled,  but  his  grey  eyes  wide  and  alert. 
Lanagan  brushed  in  and  I  after  him.  He  sat  the 
Chief  down  on  a  settee  and  for  ten  minutes  he  ham 
mered  away.  At  last  Leslie's  fist  banged  the  settee 
arm. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry,  you're  right !  And  I  want 
to  flash  that  bird  again!  It  all  comes  back  to  me 
now ;  I  couldn't  make  out  the  other  day  where  I  had 
seen  him  before.  Little  stouter,  but  same  man  or 
I'll  cut  my  throat !  " 

He  took  the  stairs  to  the  next  floor  three  at  a  time. 
Within  five  minutes  he  was  back,  fully  dressed. 

"  Got  your  machine  out  here  yet?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Lanagan.  "But  don't  forget  the 
Wards." 

Leslie  stepped  to  the  telephone  stand  and  to  his 
private  line  to  headquarters. 

"  Prison,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  Prison?  Give  me 
the  matron.  Mrs.  Conness?  Take  that  Ward  girl 
into  your  room  and  give  her  the  best  you  have  until 


252  LANAGAN 

I  get  down.  Give  me  Andrews.  Sergeant  An 
drews  ?  Take  that  Ward  boy  to  the  matron's  room 
and  give  him  the  best  you  have  until  I  get  down 
there."  He  hung  up  the  receiver.  "  Come  on. 
We'll  pick  up  Brady.  He  lives  just  around  the 
corner.  We  better  get  Maloney,  too;  he's  not  far 
away.  If  this  is  the  bird  I  think  it  is,  we'll  take  no 
chances.  Known  as  the  '  Swallow.'  Two  timer, 
Moyomemsing  prison.  Porch  climber.  Came  out 
here  about  fifteen  years  ago  and  reported  on,  saying 
he  wanted  a  chance  to  make  good.  We  kept  track 
of  him  for  a  couple  of  years.  He  was  clerking  and 
doing  the  right  thing.  Then  we  lost  him." 

"  I  didn't  identify  him  that  closely,"  said  Lanagan. 
"  But  he's  the  man  who  did  this  trick  and  the  other 
nine." 

Within  twenty-five  minutes  Brady  and  Maloney 
were  crowded  into  the  machine  with  us.  Lanagan 
gave  a  direction.  At  Pacific  Avenue  and  Octavia 
Street  we  stopped,  in  the  heart  of  the  fashionable 
western  addition.  With  Lanagan  and  Leslie  in  the 
lead,  Brady  and  I  next  and  Maloney  bringing  up 
the  rear,  we  straggled  along  for  several  blocks. 

At  Washington  and  Buchanan  Streets  the  Chief 
and  Lanagan  had  stepped  back  and  signalled  us. 
We  closed  up.  From  the  middle  of  the  block  on 
Washington  Street  came  the  sound  of  a  taxicab 
starting.  Leslie  looked  around  the  corner  as  the 
machine  came  towards  us,  and  stepped  to  the  street, 
flashing  his  shield.  The  machine  stopped.  The 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  253 

door  opened.  A  head  appeared.  A  familiar  voice 
came. 

"  Hello,  Chief!     What's  up?" 

Detective  Harrigan  stepped  out 

"  You're  up,"  said  Leslie,  with  a  bitter  oath. 
"  You  are  under  arrest.  Brady,  search  the  pris 
oner." 

Quick  as  a  knife  blade  springs  back  Harrigan's 
hand  went  to  his  hip ;  but  as  quick  as  he  was,  Leslie 
was  quicker.  There  was  a  click,  click  and  Harrigan 
stood  before  his  superior  officer  and  his  brother  de 
tectives,  manacled.  With  practised  fingers  Brady 
was  running  through  his  clothes.  He  passed  over 
Harrigan's  revolver,  handcuffs  and  billy.  He 
brought  forth  a  leather  wallet.  Leslie  tore  it  open. 
It  held  an  assortment  of  jewelry,  jumbled  together. 

"  So !  "  he  said,  his  voice  shaking  with  rage,  "  you 
knew  it  was  the  Swallow,  did  you  ?  And  you  have 
been  shaking  him  down  for  half  the  loot?  Well, 
Officer  Harrigan,  you  and  the  Swallow  will  be 
splitting  cobble  stones  inside  of  a  month.  You 
dirty,  rotten,  gutter  scut !  You  were  framing  to 
send  two  little  kids  to  prison,  were  you?  I  wish  I 
had  let  you  pull  that  gun !  We'd  have  saved  the 
county  the  expense  of  a  trial!  " 

He  tore  Harrigan's  coat  back  and  ripped  his  star 
from  his  breast.  He  ground  it  under  his  heel  until 
the  number  it  held  was  obliterated,  and  then  he 
hurled  it  spinning  into  the  air  and  over  the  cornef 
house.  It  landed  faintly  on  a  distant  roof. 


254  LANAGAN 

Harrigan  noticed  Lanagan  for  the  first  time  and 
sprang  for  him,  raising  his  manacled  hands.  But 
Leslie  stopped  him  with  a  drive  to  the  jaw  that  sent 
him  staggering  back  against  the  machine. 

"  Take  him  in,  Maloney,"  ordered  the  Chief. 
"  I've  seen  enough  of  him.  iWe'll  get  along  without 
you  now." 

Harrigan  said  not  a  word.  He  stumbled  into  the 
machine,  Maloney  following.  It  drove  away. 

"  Jack  Lanagan,"  said  Leslie,  "  I  wish  you  were 
on  my  staff.  You  could  have  O'Rourke's  job  to 
night." 

"  Thanks,  Chief,  I'll  be  satisfied  if  you  send 
O'Rourke  to  the  fog  belt,"  replied  Lanagan,  sar 
donically.  "  Put  a  man  like  Royan  in  his  place  and 
you'll  have  the  kind  of  head  the  bureau  needs." 

"  Royan  goes,"  said  the  Chief.  "  You're  entitled 
to  something  on  this  night's  work." 

"  We've  got  to  hurry.  Our  man  may  have 
noticed  that  taxi  incident." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  Harrigan  came  out  of  the 
house."  We  walked  up  the  street.  "  Take  the  rear, 
Brady,"  said  Leslie,  and  the  detective  stepped  quietly 
down  the  cement  path  at  the  side  of  a  fairly  pre 
tentious  home.  Leslie,  Lanagan  and  I  tiptoed  up 
the  front  steps.  We  stood  to  one  side,  while  Lana 
gan  took  the  door.  He  rang  twice.  Footsteps 
came.  It  was  evident  Harrigan's  host  had  not  yet 
retired. 

"  That  you,  Harrigan  ?  "  the  voice  came   from 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  255 

inside  before  the  door  opened.  Lanagan  mumbled 
a  yes.  The  door  swung  back  and  Donald  Cutting, 
Esq.,  proprietor  and  general  manager  of  the  Phoenix 
Vacuum  Cleaning  Company  stood  staring  at  Lana 
gan  from  the  brilliantly  lighted  hallway.  For  an 
instant  he  was  speechless.  Then  he  shouted : 

"  Well,  what  the  devil  do  you  want  around  here 
at  this  hour  of  the  morning?  What  gets  into  you 
reporters,  anyhow?  Has  a  citizen  got  any  rights 
in  his  own  home  at  all  ?  " 

"  There  aren't  many  that  you  have."  It  was 
Leslie.  He  had  swung  to  the  door  directly  before 
Cutting. 

His  revolver  was  at  Cutting's  waist. 

"  Just  keep  your  hands  a  little  higher,  Cutting : 
you're  pretty  nifty  with  those  digits  of  yours.  Now 
back  in  there,  so  we  can  all  sit  down  and  talk." 

Cutting  stood  an  instant  as  though  frozen,  and 
then  mechanically  stepped  back.  We  all  walked  in. 
The  door  was  closed. 

"  '  Swallow,'  "  said  the  Chief,  "  you're  through. 
We've  got  Harrigan  with  the  goods.  Where's  the 
rest  of  the  loot?  I  mean  outside  the  Robbins  stuff. 
We've  got  that  located." 

Cutting's  head  dropped  to  his  hands.  He  sat  in 
silence,  bowed. 

"Donald,  what  is  it?  Is  there  any  trouble?" 
A  woman's  voice  came  over  the  balustrade.  He 
straightened  up,  as  though  an  electric  current  had 
shot  through  him. 


256  LANAGAN 

"  Nothing,  Molly,"  he  said.  "  Just  some  old 
friends  dropped  in  on  me.  I  will  be  at  liberty  soon." 

"Your  wife?"  asked  Leslie.  "My  wife,"  re 
plied  Cutting. 

In  another  moment  she  was  sweeping  from  the 
broad  stairway  in  a  silken  kimono,  her  hair  flowing 
loosely,  and  stood  before  us. 

Cutting  looked  directly  at  her,  and  in  her  eyes 
there  was  a  light  of  questioning.  "  I  must  leave 
you,  Molly,"  he  said.  Still  looking  at  him  in  that 
singular  way,  she  asked:  "For  how  long?" 

"  It  is  not  in  my  power  to  say.  These  men  are 
police  officers.  They  knew  me  from  the  east. 
They  want  me  to  go  down  to  the  jail  with  them." 

"  Will  you  be  there  long?  " 

"  If  I  could  help  myself,  I  would  not  go  at  all." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  nervous  laugh.  "  I  un 
derstand.  Something  possibly  about  that  poor  boy 
in  your  employ  and  that  robbery." 

Lanagan's  black  eyes  were  studying  the  woman 
intently;  Leslie  was  watching  Cutting.  Both,  I 
could  see,  were  puzzled.  Even  I,  with  my  duller 
perceptions,  was  sensible  that  there  was  some  subtle 
undercurrent  in  this  conversation ;  something  cryptic 
that  I  could  not  solve. 

"  You  will  need  your  hat,"  she  said,  and  turned  to 
the  hat  rack  in  the  rear  of  the  hall. 

"  It's  all  right,  Chief,"  said  Cutting,  in  an  aside, 
arising,  "  you've  got  me.  Please  don't  make  any 
scene  before  her." 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  257 

She  returned  with  the  hat.     He  fumbled  with  it. 

"  Kiss  me,"  he  said.  She  did  so;  left  his  arms, 
but  came  back  to  them,  a  gush  of  tears  starting  as  she 
clung  to  him  in  a  passionate  embrace. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  faintly,  his  voice  breaking.  She 
turned  and  stumbled  for  the  stairs.  A  quick  look 
flashed  from  Lanagan  to  the  Chief. 

"  One  minute,  madam,"  said  Leslie,  sternly. 
"  You  had  better  come  along,  too." 

"No!"  cried  Cutting.  "Never,  Chief,  as  you 
are  a  man!  Never  in  a  million  years!  She  has 
never  known  of  my  work  out  here;  she  knew  me 
before  Moyomemsing;  she  stuck  by  me  during  it  all; 
she  married  me  and  we  came  out  here.  She  knows 
nothing ;  nothing.  She  may  have  suspected,  but  she 
knew  nothing.  The  old  call  claimed  me,  going 
through  those  houses  making  estimates  on  cleaning ; 
why,  it's  a  disease,  that's  all,  Chief!  I  got  pressed 
for  money.  I  undertook  too  much  in  my  business. 
I  couldn't  handle  it.  I  had  notes  to  meet.  I  just 
fell  naturally  back  to  the  old  easy  way.  That's  all. 
Just  went  back  to  it  because  that's  the  way  I  was 
born,  I  suppose ;  crooked." 

"  Humph.     Where  did  you  send  the  stuff?  " 

"  East.  Except  the  Robbins.  Needed  money 
bad,  didn't  want  to  take  a  chance  handling  it  here,  so 
I  tried  the  message.  What  Harrigan  didn't  get  is 
down  at  the  office  in  the  safe." 

"  We  suspected  that,"  said  Leslie.  "  How  long 
has  Harrigan  been  cutting  with  you?  " 


258  LANAGAN 

"  Oh,  well,  don't  ask  me  that.  Some  time.  He's 
a  wolf.  I  am  a  crook,  but  he's  got  me  lashed  to 
the  mast.  The  kid  stuff  was  none  of  mine.  I  did 
lose  one  ring  at  the  office.  The  boy  found  it.  He 
got  scared  and  contradicted  himself.  Harrigan 
framed  the  other  thing  about  the  house." 

"  I  guess  it's  pretty  nearly  an  even  break,"  said 
Leslie,  He  stepped  forward  to  put  on  the  wrist 
nippers.  As  he  did  so  Cutting  raised  his  hat  to  his 
head ;  his  hand,  coming  down,  stopped  for  a  fraction 
of  a  second  at  his  lips. 

"  Better  this,"  he  said,  rapidly,  backing  away,  "  I 
couldn't  go  back.  I'm  a  pretty  old  man,  you  know." 

As  though  he  had  been  shot  through  the  heart  he 
dropped  in  a  heap.  Lanagan  leaped  for  him.  The 
Chief  bent  over  him.  They  arose  together.  Lana 
gan  picked  up  the  hat  and  turned  back  the  sweat 
band.  Inside  was  a  little  envelope,  pasted  to  the 
felt.  It  was  half  rilled  with  white  powder. 

"  Cyanide,"  said  Lanagan. 

Such  was  the  passing  of  the  Swallow. 

Lanagan,  in  his  search  for  similar  conditions  in 
the  ten  burglaries  found  but  one:  that  Cutting  had 
personally  visited  each  house  to  make  the  estimates 
of  cost.  That  fact,  coupled  with  the  ring  found  at 
his  establishment,  convinced  Lanagan  that  he  and 
he  alone  was  the  man.  Cutting  worked  four  ma 
chines,  each  with  its  separate  crew,  and  no  other 


THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN  259 

employee  had  worked  in  more  than  three  out  of  the 
ten  houses. 

Anxious  to  keep  track  of  Cutting  after  his  theory 
began  to  impress  him,  he  had  learned  that  he  was  at 
the  theatre.  He  had  picked  him  up  after  the  show, 
trailed  him  to  a  cafe,  followed  him  in  a  taxicab  as  he 
took  his  wife  home,  and  kept  at  his  tail  lights  when 
he  returned  after  one  o'clock  to  discharge  the  ma 
chine  and  walk  to  a  saloon  well  south  of  Market 
Street  where  he  had  met  Harrigan.  That  was  Lan- 
agan's  first  definite  information  that  Harrigan  and 
Cutting  were  involved. 

Cutting  and  Harrigan  had  separated,  Lanagan 
following  Cutting  to  his  establishment.  He  re 
mained  there  some  time,  busied  about  his  safe,  and 
had  then  apparently  gone  directly  home. 

It  was  then  that  Lanagan  picked  me  up. 

Harrigan,  of  course,  was  the  man  who  had  passed 
through  the  alley.  He  then  had  gone  on  out  to  Cut 
ting's  house,  for  a  final  distribution  of  the  spoils, 
Cutting  having  evidently  taken  Harrigan's  share 
from  the  safe. 

Late  that  same  afternoon  Lanagan  sat  in  Leslie's 
office  with  Robbins,  who  had  just  received  his 
jewelry.  Robbins  drew  out  his  check  book. 

"  If  you  will  permit  me?"  he  said,  to  Lanagan. 
He  had  filled  in  "  $250."  "  How  do  you  spell  your 
name  ?  " 


260  LANAGAN 

Lanagan  laughed.  "  Make  it  out  to  the  Adams 
Piano  Company,"  he  said. 

Robbins  looked  politely  inquisitive,  but  asked  no 
questions.  He  wrote  in  the  name.  But  Leslie  was 
not  so  polite. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  Sam  Hill  are  you  going  to 
do  with  a  piano  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  myself.  I  wouldn't  take  it  any  more 
than  I  would  take  the  money.  You  know  that. 
But  there  is  a  girl  I  know  who  can  use  that  piano 
and  use  it  to  very  good  advantage.  And  what's 
more,  she's  entitled  to  it." 

He  picked  up  the  check  and  carefully  folded  it, 
placing  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  I'm  going  over  now  and  pick  out  the  best  piano 
the  money  will  buy,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  going  to 
send  it,  with  the  compliments  of  Mr.  Robbins,  Chief 
Leslie  and  Jack  Lanagan  to  a  little  home  at  211 
Clementina  Street,  Miss  Ward  is  the  name." 


He  lit  a  match." 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 

THE  Stockslager  case  will  be  recalled  immedi 
ately  upon  the  Pacific  Coast  as  a  crime  of 
some  years  ago  marked  by  the  peculiar  atrocity  of 
the  circumstances.  Aged  Mrs.  Stockslager,  living 
in  a  small  cottage  at  the  extreme  northern  end  of 
Thirty-third  Avenue  —  in  those  days  a  region 
sparsely  settled  and  visited  chiefly  by  picknickers 
bound  for  Baker's  Beach  —  was  found  one  Sunday 
morning  literally  hacked  to  pieces. 

From  the  location  of  portions  of  the  dismembered 
body  it  was  apparent  that  the  author  had  planned  to 
carry  the  evidences  of  the  crime  away  and  sink  them 
in  the  waters  of  the  ocean,  which  tumbled  and  rolled 
on  the  rocks  at  the  base  of  the  steep  cliff  that 
marked  the  extremity  of  Thirty-third  Avenue.  A 
potato  sack,  with  the  torso,  was  found  near  the  rear 
door  to  the  cottage,  indicating  that  whoever  had 
committed  the  deed  had  probably  been  interrupted 
while  carrying  the  remains  to  the  bay ;  and  had  then 
fled. 

A  kitchen  butcher  knife  was  the  weapon  used. 
Robbery  was  evidently  the  motive,  for  the  hut  had 
been  ransacked  thoroughly,  such  poor  and  mean 

363 


264  LANAGAN 

trinkets  as  the  recluse  was  known  to  possess  having 
been  taken. 

Mrs.  Stockslager  did  a  small  business  in  sand 
wiches,  pop  corn  and  soda  water  with  the  picknick- 
ers.  The  rumours  of  a  miser's  hoard  that  usually 
attached  to  such  as  she  had  long  been  current.  But 
whether  the  slayer  or  slayers  realised  a  profit  in 
money  could  not  be  determined  as  there  was  no  one 
who  could  be  found  sufficiently  familiar  with  her 
life  to  say  whether  she  did  or  did  not  have  a  store 
of  money  on  the  premises. 

Such  were  the  general  facts  which  Sampson,  city 
editor  of  the  Enquirer,  skeletonised  tersely  to  Laa- 
agan  as  that  police  reporter  of  superior  talents  re 
ported  for  duty  after  a  lapse  of  more  than  ordinary 
duration. 

"  Hop  to  it,  Jack,"  added  Sampson.  "  You've 
had  your  salary  for  two  weeks.  Show  your  ap 
preciation." 

Those  were  the  days  before  automobiles  might 
be  requisitioned  —  occasionally  —  for  big  assign 
ments,  and  Lanagan,  taking  the  steam  line  that  in 
those  days  twisted  around  the  ocean  shore,  was  con 
siderably  later  than  the  coroner's  deputies,  who  had 
already  discharged  their  functions  and  now  were 
engaged  in  making  an  impromptu  meal  upon  the 
old  woman's  supply  of  sandwiches,  the  only  loot 
available. 

Phillips  and  Castle,  special  duty  men  from  tHe 
Golden  Gate  Park  police  station,  were  also  on  the 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  265 

scene.  The  "  upper  office  "  at  headquarters  is  re 
cruited  —  where  it  is  not  recruited  by  politics  or 
favouritism  —  by  these  active  young  officers  on 
special  duty  at  the  outside  stations,  and  Lanagan 
knew  that  this  particular  brace  of  plainclothes  men 
were  hardworking  and  ambitious  and  without  the 
"  strings  "  that  many  times  bring  the  ablest  of  up 
per  office  men  a  trifle  too  considerately  into  touch 
with  the  outlaw  clans. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  Phillips?  "  asked  Lan 
agan,  as  the  officer  placed  his  note-book  in  his  pocket. 

"  Wouldn't  call  it  a  suicide,  exactly,"  replied 
Phillips,  offishly. 

Lanagan  laughed.  "  No  ? "  he  'drawled.  M I 
wouldn't  put  it  past  you  to  call  it  natural  causes, 
though." 

Phillips  flushed  to  the  base  of  his  thick  neck  but 
held  himself  from  answering.  He  knew  Lanagan 
by  reputation  and  did  not  care  to  match  wits  with 
him.  Lanagan  worked  with  most  of  the  "  upper 
office  "  men  on  intimate  terms,  but  found  it  occa 
sionally  necessary  to  put  a  "  crimp  "  in  the  arro 
gance,  or  ignorance,  of  the  outside  station  officers, 
who  do  not  come  into  contact  with  newspaper  men 
as  frequently  as  the  down  town  men  and  at  times 
elect  to  affect  the  same  impartiality  with  which  they 
treat  ordinary  persons.  Such  Lanagan  took  pride  in 
bringing  to  a  proper  appreciation  of  the  honourable 
place  occupied  by  the  brothers  of  the  Tribe. 

Lanagan  ignored  the  two  detectives  and  gave  his 


266  LANAGAN 

attention  to  the  coroner's  deputies,  the  cottage  and 
outskirts,  and  the  contents  of  the  wicker  basket. 
Before  the  next  train  arrived,  bringing  a  dozen  re 
porters  and  camera  men  from  the  other  papers,  and 
myself,  Lanagan  had  finished  his  investigations.  I 
found  him  seated  on  a  salt  grass  hummock,  smoking 
and  gazing  absently  up  and  down  the  ragged,  rocky 
shore  line.  The  surf  was  tumbling  heavily  although 
a  few  hundred  yards  out  the  sea  was  an  undulating 
swell  of  greenish  beauty. 

"  Some  fine  day,"  was  his  greeting.  "  Let's  take 
a  stroll  down." 

We  made  our  way  down  the  cliff  to  the  rocks  at 
the  water's  edge. 

"  Imagination  is  oftentimes  a  great  thing  in  solv 
ing  crime,"  he  remarked,  as  he  poised  himself  peril 
ously  on  a  slippery  rock  and  relit  his  cigar.  "  That 
and  the  '  take  a  chance '  instinct.  Call  it  a  hunch, 
bull-luck,  accident,  or  as  one  great  French  detective 
said,  '  le  grand  hasard.'  Beautiful  picture,  is  it 
not?" 

He  pointed  toward  the  Heads,  where  a  Pacific 
Mail  steamship  was  just  putting  her  pilot  down  the 
side.  She  made  a  fine  picture  in  truth,  with  her 
clean,  lithe  lines  and  her  smoke  blowing  back  like 
the  wind-blown  tresses  of  a  girl. 

We  strolled  along  the  intermittent  stretches  of 
sandy  beach  or  clambered  over  the  rocks  and  it 
finally  struck  me  that  Lanagan's  ferret  eyes  were  not 
at  all  absent-minded  or  entirely  busied  with  the 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  267 

natural  beauties  of  the  scene,  but  that  he  was  ex 
amining  closely  every  square  inch  of  the  ground  we 
travelled ;  and  the  waters  as  we  passed. 

"  Phillips  is  rather  cagey,"  he  remarked.  "  He'll 
have  to  be  taught  his  place.  He's  a  good  officer, 
though;  and  Leslie  has  his  eye  on  him.  We  must 
look  out  for  that  chap.  He  not  only  has  good  legs, 
a  prime  requisite  of  a  detective  or  a  reporter,  but 
he  has  a  head  that  really  works  once  in  a  while." 

He  sat  down  finally  under  the  shelter  of  a  great 
rock  and  motioned  me  to  do  likewise.  Then  he 
pulled  from  his  pocket,  carefully  tucked  away,  a 
V-shaped  piece  of  paper  written  over  with  Chinese 
characters.  The  corner  that  made  the  apex  of  the 
V  was  crinkled. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it?  " 

"  It's  a  piece  of  a  Chinese  newspaper,"  I  replied. 

"  Really !  You  would  do  credit  to  Phillips. 
Examine  it  this  time." 

I  tried  again,  but  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

"  Look." 

He  uncrumpled  the  slight  crinkling  at  the  apex 
and  a  tiny  bit  of  red  paper  was  exposed.  I  was 
ashamed  of  my  own  lack  of  observation;  but  just 
as  puzzled  as  before  and  said  so. 

"  I  should  say,"  said  Lanagan,  "  that  this  paper 
with  the  Chinese  characters  was  a  piece  of  wrap 
ping  paper;  that  someone  tore  it  from  a  package 
with  his  finger  nails  and  that  a  portion  of  the  red 
wrapper  of  the  package  itself,  came  off  in  his  finger 


268  LANAGAN 

nails.  See  ?  "  He  crumpled  it  up  and  sure  enough 
it  fitted  neatly  into  the  space  under  his  finger  nail. 

"Well?"  I  asked,  vaguely.  Then  I  had  an  in 
spiration.  The  Chinese  burial  ground  was  only  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  away.  Lanagan  obviously  had 
some  theory  connecting  Chinese  with  the  crime,  the 
bit  of  paper  evidently  having  dropped  from  a 
Chinaman's  blouse.  I  told  him  so.  He  laughed 
immoderately  but  indulgently  and  carefully  put  the 
bit  of  paper  away  in  his  pocket. 

"  You're  a  stem-winder  when  it  comes  to  writing 
fancy  leads  for  my  police  stories,"  he  said,  still 
chuckling,  "  but  I  guess  I'll  have  to  give  up  for 
keeps  trying  to  make  a  detective  out  of  you.  I 
have  shown  you  in  perspective  as  it  were,  during  the 
past  twenty  minutes,  the  solution  of  this  entire 
crime  —  if  my  theory  is  not  altogether  wrong  — 
and  you  can't  see  it.  Let's  get  busy.  Your  legs 
can  at  least  be  of  service  to  me. 

"  I  want  you  to  stick  around  here  for  a  couple 
of  hours.  Tackle  everybody  in  sight  for  a  knowl 
edge  of  Mrs.  Stockslager;  how  long  she  has  been 
out  here,  her  past,  who  her  family  are  if  any,  who 
her  visitors  have  been;  if  she  had  any  particular 
idiosyncrasies  or  hobbies.  Take  in  all  the  houses 
within  a  radius  of  a  mile  —  there  are  only  four  or 
five  —  and  try  to  get  some  kind  of  a  line  on  her. 
Don't  overlook  the  small  boy.  In  out-of-the-way 
regions  like  this  he  is  the  pioneer  of  civilisation  and 
you  may  tumble  on  to  more  through  some  roving 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  269 

urchin  than  all  the  grown-ups  in  the  county.  I 
will  leave  instructions  at  the  office  where  to  meet 
me  later.  I  anticipate  lively  entertainment  ahead." 

When  we  got  back  to  the  cottage  the  coroner's 
deputies  had  gone,  as  had  Phillips  and  Castle. 
Camera  men  were  taking  the  house  from  many 
angles ;  artists  were  busy  sketching  the  interior  — 
that  was  the  heyday  of  "  yellow  journalism " — • 
marking  the  "  spot "  with  the  old  familiar  cross. 
Reporters  were  still  cluttering  around.  A  crowd 
of  morbid  persons,  attracted  out  of  the  very  sky 
like  vultures,  were  already  gathered. 

"  Suppose  you've  got  it  all  cleared  ?  "  remarked 
Bradley  of  the  Times  to  Lanagan.  He  was  Lana- 
gan's  nearest  approach  to  a  rival  as  a  police  re 
porter. 

"  Clear  as  print  can  make  it,"  replied  Lanagan  as 
he  turned  for  the  train. 

He  ran  for  the  car,  leaving  Bradley  secretly  un 
easy.  He  had  a  wholesome  regard  for  Lanagan 
and  knew  that  he  was  of  few  words  and  not  given 
to  wasting  them.  I  slipped  the  rest  of  the  news 
paper  men  and  tramped  the  sandhills  "  covering " 
all  the  houses,  "  buzzing  "  an  occasional  small  boy. 
The  best  I  could  get  for  two  hours'  hard  work  — 
and  the  first  "  tip  "  came  from  an  unwashed,  sling- 
shooting  young  American  —  was  a  vague  story  that 
no  one  could  substantiate,  that  Mrs.  Stockslager 
had  a  worthless  son  who  infrequently  visited  her 
for  money.  I  hugged  this  information  close  until 


270  LANAGAN 

I  could  see  Lanagan.  It  so  happened  he  ordered 
me  to  keep  it  quiet  for  that  day,  giving  no  reasons. 
I  was  chagrined  the  next  morning  to  awaken  and 
find  that  Bradley  had  the  same  piece  of  information 
and  had  "  flashed  "  it  on  the  front  page  for  an  ex 
clusive  double-leaded  feature  to  his  story. 

The  search  then  turned  to  the  son.  He  could  be 
traced  to  within  six  or  seven  months  of  the  murder. 
I  had  to  lumber  along  as  best  I  could  in  handling 
the  story  without  Lanagan's  assistance.  The  stories 
in  all  of  the  papers  became  monotonously  uniform. 
On  the  third  day  the  interest  was  thinning.  There 
had  not  been  a  single  new  fact  discovered;  nor,  so 
far  as  the  Enquirer  was  concerned,  had  there  been 
a  word  from  Lanagan. 

"  He  must  have  something,"  Sampson  said  to  me 
irritably  on  the  third  day.  "  But  take  a  flier  through 
his  hangouts  on  the  chance  that  he  might  have 
gone  off  again." 

I  shook  my  head.  "  That  isn't  Lanagan  with  a 
story  on,"  I  said.  "  He  does  his  drinking  when  the 
story  is  turned  in."  Nevertheless  I  took  a  quick 
skirmish  to  Connor's,  Fogarty's  and  "  Red " 
Murphy's ;  looked  up  "  Kid  "  Monahan  and  some 
of  Lanagan's  intimates  in  the  upper  office.  I  could 
find  no  trace  of  him. 

Toward  evening  I  dropped  back  to  the  Enquirer 
after  a  final  round-up  of  the  ends  of  the  story  at 
police  headquarters,  and  there  Lanagan  sat  with 
his  heels  on  Sampson's  desk,  with  that  pulseless  in- 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  271 

dividual  shooting  questions  at  him  with  the  speed 
and  precision  of  an  automatic  revolver. 

"  I've  given  you  all  I  am  free  to  give  just  now/' 
said  Lanagan,  shutting  down  on  the  questioning. 
"  You've  got  a  good  enough  scoop  to  hold  the  story 
for  to-morrow.  Let  me  handle  the  rest  in  my  own 
way,  will  you?"  He  was  nettled.  "Don't  be  so 
didactic.  Do  you  think  I've  been  spending  the  last 
three  days  with  a  dry  nurse?"  He  was  the  only 
man  on  the  Enquirer  who  could  take  that  tone  with 
Sampson  and  hold  his  job. 

"  No.  I  know  you've  been  on  your  toes  hard, 
Jack,  and  I  appreciate  it.  Only  the  news-call  gets 
the  best  of  me  and  this  story  has  us  all  on  edge," 
replied  Sampson. 

"  You're  not  to  go  near  the  prison,"  continued 
Lanagan.  "  I  need  Norton  to-night.  Let  Martin 
write  the  story  from  here.  Stockslager  is  abso 
lutely  out  of  it.  He  has  been  a  trusty  at  the  city 
prison  for  about  six  months,  which  clears  him  up. 
Name  he  goes  under  is  '  Swede  '  Stockley.  The 
police  have  known  it  all  along  but  they  have  kept  it 
dark  for  certain  reasons  which  I  am  not  at  liberty 
now  to  state. 

"  Lend  me  that  nice,  new  mackintosh  of  yours, 
Sampson.  It's  raining  like  blazes  and  the  enthusi 
astic  Mr.  Norton  and  myself  will  have  a  hard  stand 
to-night.  Take  your  raincoat,  Norton.  We  are 
going  out  looking  for  ghosts  around  the  Stocks- 
lager  cottage.  There's  a  real  ghost  of  the  old  lady 


272  LANAGAN 

out  there  and  I've  wanted  for  a  long  time  to  have 
a  run-in  with  a  genuine  spook.  She  was  seen  on 
the  cliff  last  night  as  the  train  stopped.  McClus- 
key,  the  conductor,  thought  he  heard  a  sort  of  moan 
ing.  He's  a  pretty  nervy  chap  and  the  moans,  com 
ing  it  seemed  from  the  hut,  didn't  scare  him  much. 
He  walked  over  that  way  and  silhouetted  at  the  edge 
of  the  cliff  he  swears  he  saw  the  old  lady  herself. 
It  was  too  much  even  for  McCluskey  and  he  ran 
back  to  the  train. 

"  He  and  the  engineer,  Roberts,  went  back  with 
a  couple  of  crowbars  although  he  didn't  say  what 
good  crowbars  would  do  in  tackling  a  bonafide 
ghost.  They  just  got  one  glimpse  of  the  thing  and 
it  disappeared  and  they  both  swear  it  couldn't  have 
had  time  to  get  any  place  before  they  reached  the 
scene.  It  was  a  fairly  clear  night,  during  a  break 
in  the  storm,  and  they  wasted  five  minutes  and  then 
went  back  to  their  train. 

"  I  was  out  there  to-day  and  McCluskey  told  me 
the  yarn.  They've  kept  it  quiet  around  the  car 
barn  for  fear  of  being  ridiculed.  I  have  them 
pledged  to  secrecy.  Don't  use  that  angle  of  the 
story  to-morrow,  though,  as  I  want  to  do  some 
ghost  hunting  before  the  whole  town  hears  about 
it  and  flocks  out  there. 

"  Come  on,  Norrie.     Got  your  gun?  " 

That  ghost  talk  gave  me  all  sorts  of  forebodings. 
With  a  black  night  ahead  and  a  driving  rain,  ghost 
hunting  on  the  scene  of  the  murder,  in  an  environ- 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  273 

ment  sufficiently  forbidding  on  a  wintry  night  in 
any  event,  failed  to  stir  me  to  any  particular  height 
of  enthusiasm. 

"  Fire  ahead,"  said  Sampson,  with  one  of  his 
mirthless  grins.  But  he  was  sitting  comfortably  in 
a  steam-heated  office. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  we  boarded  the  steam 
cars  at  the  old  Central  Avenue  terminal.  McClus- 
key  was  a  solid-jawed,  sensible,  self-reliant  looking 
chap.  It  puzzled  me.  A  sober,  steady  man  like 
that  must  have  seen  something  very  convincing  be 
fore  sponsoring  talk  of  ghosts. 

"  Ghost  hunting?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lanagan.  "  Good  feature  story, 
this  ghost  stuff.  Keep  it  quiet  for  a  day  or  two 
longer,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Sure.  I'll  be  on  the  watch  for  the  Enquirer 
to  see  about  it.  Looked  for  it  to-night,  but  didn't 
see  it." 

He  slowed  down  for  us  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
from  the  Thirty-third  Avenue  stop  and  we  dropped 
off  into  a  bitter  rain. 

That  rain  would  have  quenched  the  tail  fires  of 
hell. 

We  struggled  on,  heads  down.  There  was  no 
use  in  trying  to  talk  and  I  knew  Lanagan  would  take 
his  own  time  about  giving  me  any  information. 
We  suddenly  pulled  stiffly  up  against  two  bulky, 
raincoated  figures.  A  dark  lantern  flashed,  first  in 
my  face,  then  in  Lanagan's. 


274  LANAGAN 

"  Well,  well ! "  It  was  Lanagan's  ready  voice, 
pitched  a  trifle  high  on  account  of  the  beating  rain. 
"  If  it  isn't  Messrs.  Phillips  and  Castle!  Walking 
to  reduce  weight,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  fellows  doing  out  here?  "  asked 
Phillips,  gruffly. 

"  Well,  Phillips,  seeing  that  it's  you,  I'll  tell  you : 
It's  none  of  your  business.  Maybe  we're  going  to 
swim  to  the  Farallones.  Do  you  understand  me 
perfectly?  " 

"Isn't  it?  We'll  see.  And  I  don't  know 
whether  we  want  you  snuffing  around  here  or  not," 
replied  Phillips.  He  was  a  choleric  man,  was  Phil 
lips,  with  a  neck  too  thick  even  for  a  policeman.  I 
thought  for  a  moment  Lanagan  would  have  us  both 
ordered  back,  but  he  only  laughed,  in  that  mocking, 
Machiavelian  laugh  of  his  that  could  rasp  like  a  file 
on  a  sore  tooth. 

"  Dear  me,"  he  said,  "  your  mood  fits  the  weather, 
Phillips;  very  disagreeable.  I  am  not  concerned 
with  your  wants.  I'm  going  to  snuff  to  my  heart's 
content.  Now  please  step  off  the  right  of  way  and 
permit  us  to  pass.  We  are  both  citizens  of  this 
great  and  glorious  city  that  overpays  you  most  dis 
gracefully  in  proportion  to  your  attainments;  and 
as  such  citizens  our  powers  and  privileges  on  the 
county  domain  are  precisely  as  full  and  complete  as 
yours.  Phillips,  you'll  never  do.  No  policeman 
ever  succeeds  who  begins  by  antagonising  news 
paper  men.  I'm  telling  you,  you  won't  do.  Step 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  275 

aside,  please.  We  want  to  go  on  and  we  don't 
purpose  to  walk  around  you  to  do  it." 

For  a  moment  things  looked  ugly,  with  Phillips 
standing  fast.  Castle  took  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Come  on,  Tom,  you're  wrong,"  he  said,  and  the1 
two  officers  stepped  to  one  side  and  we  passed  on, 
with  Lanagan  chuckling  aloud. 

"  Ghost  hunting  is  becoming  a  regular  fad,"  he 
said  finally.  "  And  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to  find 
a  few  more  hunters  scattered  around.  We  will  let 
Phillips  and  Castle  pass." 

We  stepped  quickly  to  one  side  and  sank  down 
behind  a  hillock  of  very  wet  and  very  cold  sand. 
Lanagan  was  correct.  The  two  detectives  had 
turned  and  followed  us.  They  went  on  ahead,  hav 
ing  missed  us. 

It  was  shivery.  Here  were  four  men,  two  trail 
ing  two  others  who  assumed  they  were  the  trailers ; 
and  all  bound  for  a  murder  house  on  a  black  night 
to  hunt  ghosts:  for  it  was  safe  to  assume  that  in 
some  fashion  Phillips  and  Castle  had  heard  the 
ghost  episode.  Did  we  but  know  it  at  the  time, 
we  were  in  turn  being  trailed  by  two  keen  eyed, 
storm-coated  men,  each  of  whom  kept  a  ready  hand 
in  his  overcoat  pocket. 

For,  as  Phillips  and  Castle  disappeared  on  ahead 
and  we  were  just  stepping  back  to  the  railroad 
tracks  from  our  place  of  concealment,  Lanagan  sud 
denly  bore  back  and  dropped.  I  followed  suit. 

"  More  ghost  hunters,"  he  whispered  in  my  ear, 


276  LANAGAN 

pointing.  Two  blurred,  indistinct  figures  passed 
along  the  right  of  way.  It  was  awesome.  But 
Lanagan  gave  me  no  time  for  questions.  Stooping 
low,  threshing  softly  through  the  dripping  salt 
grass,  in  and  out  among  the  sand  dunes,  we  worked 
our  way  gradually  toward  the  cliffs  along  the  ocean. 
The  coat  fairly  well  protected  my  body,  but  my 
shoes  were  soaked  and  I  was  drenched  with  the 
cold,  numbing  rain  to  my  knees. 

In  a  position  I  should  judge  about  twenty  yards 
from  the  point  where  the  path  from  the  Stocks- 
lager  path  led  over  the  cliff  to  the  rocks  below,  we 
crouched  against  a  hummock.  The  ocean  roared 
beneath  us  and  the  white  froth  of  the  breakers, 
tumbling  on  the  rocks,  could  be  faintly  seen.  Each 
time  it  would  flash  into  the  corner  of  my  eye,  I 
thought  it  was  ghost  time.  I  don't  believe  in  ghosts, 
of  course;  but,  under  such  circumstances,  one  can't 
help  wondering  a  little  bit.  From  behind  us,  as  we 
lay  there,  once,  twice,  thrice,  four  times  we  heard 
the  toot,  toot  of  the  train;  and  I  knew  that  we  had 
lain  there  for  two  mortal  hours,  because  the  train 
made  hourly  round  trips. 

I  thought  of  Sampson  and  his  snug  office  and  his 
snug  salary;  and  I  compared  myself,  taking  the 
chances  of  anything  from  a  pistol  ball  to  pneumonia 
for  my  thirty  dollars  a  week.  I  concluded  to  quit 
the  business  at  the  end  of  this  scrape.  But  I  always 
determined  to  do  that  under  such  circumstances. 
So  does  every  newspaper  man;  and  they  always 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  277 

show  up  for  work  the  next  day.  Were  we  not  at 
least  potential  paranoiacs  we  wouldn't  be  newspaper 
men.  Certainly  otherwise  we  wouldn't  do  the 
things  we  do  for  the  pay  we  get.  Regarding  news 
paper  photographers,  there  is  no  question.  They 
are  all  crazy;  except  one. 

We  had  drunk  the  last  drop  from  the  healthy 
flask  apiece  we  had  brought  and  I  was  settling  back 
in  soggy  misery  for  more  suffering,  my  eyes  so 
blurred  with  watching  and  staring  that  I  could  see 
slinking  forms  in  fancy  every  place  I  turned,  when 
Lanagan's  lean  hand  clutched  my  leg.  He  had 
taken  a  position  lower  and  nearer  the  path  than  I 
and  could  get  a  dim  perspective  of  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  just  where  the  path  descended. 

I  peered  ahead.  Faintly  I  could  see  a  single  fig 
ure,  outlined  in  blurred  relief  and  then  it  disap 
peared,  apparently  into  thin  air.  Whether  it  was 
man  or  woman  I  could  not  have  told.  That  it  dis 
appeared  before  my  eyes  I  knew. 

It  gave  one  a  creepy  feeling.  I  was  about  to 
speak  to  Lanagan  but  his  warning  pressure  was  still 
on  my  calf.  Probably  thirty  minutes  passed,  or  it 
may  have  been  only  three.  Another  figure  came 
into  view;  and  then  another,  and  disappeared. 

Then  I  realised  that  the  first  figure  had  simply 
slipped  down  the  path  and  out  of  sight.  I  wondered 
if  something  of  the  sort  hadn't  happened  when 
McCluskey  was  ghost  hunting. 

Still  Lanagan  held  that  vice-like  clutch  on  me. 


278  LANAGAN 

Another  prolonged  interval.  Two  more  figures 
bulked  into  view  and  disappeared.  Many  more 
minutes  passed  and  Lanagan  said  no  word.  The 
wind  during  the  hours  had  died  away,  but  the  rain 
continued,  pelting  now  straight  down.  Lanagan's 
hand  finally  loosened  itself  from  my  leg.  He 
pointed  over  the  ocean  toward  the  intermittent 
flashes  of  the  lighthouse  at  Land's  End.  Between 
the  Land's  End  and  Fort  Point  lights  could  be  seen 
—  the  lights  of  a  vessel. 

"  She's  a  day  overdue  on  account  of  the  storm," 
Lanagan  shot  up  at  me.  "  She's  heading  through 
the  Golden  Gate  now.  We'll  have  some  fun  shortly, 
I  reckon." 

He  straightened  up  and  stretched  himself  and  I 
'did  likewise,  threshing  my  arms  to  start  the  blood 
into  circulation.  I  was  cold,  cramped  and  grouchy. 

"  Jack,"  I  said  impatiently,  "  cut  out  this  mystery 
stuff  and  give  me  the  facts.  You've  got  me  neck 
and  neck  with  pneumonia  now.  Kick  through  with 
this  story,  whatever  it  is,  or  I'm  going  to  tear  down 
that  cliff  after  those  fellows  and  start  something  if 
only  to  keep  warm." 

Of  course  he  only  laughed.  The  man  must  have 
been  made  of  chilled  steel. 

"  Easy,  Norrie.  Think  of  the  ten  cents'  carfare 
you  can  charge  up  on  this  assignment.  That  ought 
to  be  some  compensation,  that  and  the  glory  of  the 
thing,  even  if  you  do  get  sciatica  or  lumbago  or  some 
other  old  woman's  complaint.  Norrie,  sometimes 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  279 

you  make  me  weary.  Here  I'm  staging1  one  of  the 
finest  climaxes  you  have  ever  participated  in.  I 
have  adopted  a  true  Shakespearean  method  of  suit 
ing  the  natural  surroundings  to  the  action.  It's 
rather  an  epic  situation,  in  my  opinion. 

"  Now  that  liner  —  it  was  the  Mail  boat  Hong 
kong  —  has  finally  passed  inside  the  gate.  Any 
minute  something  may  happen,  and  I  pick  you  out 
of  the  entire  staff  to  be  here  when  it  does  happen; 
here  in  an  elemental  atmosphere  where  human  lives 
may  be  snuffed  out  as  we  snuffed  out  the  contents  of 
those  flasks,  and  still  you're  not  satisfied.  It's  a  big, 
vital,  gripping  situation.  Where's  your  imagina 
tion?" 

"  Oh,  hell.  You're  drunk.  Let's  chase  down 
after  those  men.  Let's  do  something  to  start  things, 
.whatever  they  may  be.  I'm  cold." 

Lanagan  was  genuinely  put  out  with  me.  Later 
I  knew  why.  He  had  been  hanging  around  those 
bleak  cliffs  for  two  nights  and  skulking  in  the  sand 
dunes  for  two  days  watching  the  Stockslager  hut. 
No  wonder  I  was  a  "  quitter  "  by  comparison.  He 
whirled  on  me  and  I  saw  his  eyes  flashing  with  that 
curious  light  that  I  had  seen  in  them  on  rare  occa 
sions  when  he  was  thoroughly  aroused. 

"You  either  quit  whining  or  beat  it  back  to 
town." 

If  he  had  struck  me  in  the  face  it  couldn't  have 
affected  me  differently,  such  was  the  magnetism  of 
that  remarkable  man. 


280  LANAGAN 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Jack.  I  didn't  mean  to 
rough  you,"  I  said,  and  he  was  his  natural  self  in  a 
moment,  too. 

"  All  right.  Forget  it.  Let's  take  a  peek  over 
the  cliff."  We  crawled  to  the  edge  of  the  path. 
Lanagan  was  ahead.  He  was  on  his  feet  with  a 
leap  the  instant  he  struck  the  ledge,  and  I  up  beside 
him. 

"  Ha ! "  he  shouted.  "  They're  at  it !  Now  we'll 
see!  Now  we'll  see!  Le  grand  hasard!" 

Far  down  below  I  saw  a  half  a  dozen  flares  in  the 
darkness;  smattered,  smeared  flares  of  yellowish 
light  and  then  all  was  blackness  again.  There  came 
no  report  from  weapons,  the  roaring  of  the  surf 
drowning  that.  More  by  instinct  than  anything 
else  to  be  on  the  scene  of  action,  I  made  a  quick  step 
toward  the  path.  Lanagan's  hand  was  on  my  arm. 

"  Wait,"  he  said,  curtly.  "  This  is  no  funeral  of 
ours.  Wait." 

He  knelt  down,  arching  his  hands  around  his 
eyes  and  peering  long  and  intently. 

"  Revenue  officers,"  he  said.  "  We  can't  monkey 
with  them.  Haven't  got  them  on  my  staff  like 
Leslie  and  his  men.  They'll  be  up." 

Revenue  officers!  A  light  began  to  dawn  upon 
me. 

The  toot,  toot  of  the  engine  came. 

"  Beat  it,  Norrie !  Hold  that  train,"  ordered 
Lanagan.  "  There  may  be  some  wounded  here  to 
rush  to  town.  Quick !  " 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  281 

I  was  already  off  on  the  run  past  the  Stockslager 
hut  to  the  little  platform  where  the  train  stopped. 
It  was  some  distance  away  around  the  curve.  As  I 
stood  there,  with  the  rain  pattering  a  monotonous 
tattoo  on  the  planking,  there  came  a  sudden  groan, 
a  drawn-out,  rasping  groan,  and  I  whirled  toward 
the  house;  my  body  one  quiver  of  gooseflesh.  It 
came  again,  from  up  toward  the  roof;  and  as  it  came 
there  was  a  breathing  of  light  wind  across  my  face. 
I  laughed  aloud;  but  nervously.  Another  light 
puff  of  wind,  another  long-drawn  groan  —  loose 
shingles,  or  a  loose  piece  of  clapboarding,  giving,  ev 
idently,  just  the  slightest  against  a  nail.  The  other 
end  of  the  ghost  mystery  was  cleared. 

The  train  pulled  in.  I  told  McCluskey  there  had 
been  a  shooting,  and  to  hold  the  train. 

"  Can't  back  her  in.  We'll  run  out  to  the  first 
switch !  "  he  cried,  as  he  jumped  into  the  cab  with 
the  engineer. 

I  ran  back  to  find  four  men  bearing  a  form  be 
tween  them.  Lanagan  was  alongside  the  leader  of 
the  four,  talking  swiftly.  They  kicked  in  the  door 
of  the  hut  and  made  a  light.  On  the  floor,  littered 
just  as  it  had  been  littered  the  Sunday  morning  of 
the  murder  discovery,  they  placed  the  figure  they 
bore,  a  stalwart  figure  of  a  man.  A  leg  and  an  arm, 
I  could  see,  were  useless.  They  felt  of  his  arm  and 
leg  and  he  never  winced,  staring  straight  at  the  ceil 
ing.  They  ripped  away  his  oilskin  coat,  his  over- 
shirt  and  undershirt.  He  had  a  bullet  just  over  the 


282  LANAGAN 

heart,  a  deep  wound  and  one  that  bled  inwardly,  for 
no  blood  oozed  out. 

Two  of  the  four  men  had  deposited  on  the  floor 
bulky  bundles  wrapped  in  rubber,  around  which 
double  pairs  of  life  preservers  were  strapped. 

He  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  of  the  four 
("  Marshall,  chief  revenue  inspector,"  Lanagan 
whispered  to  me),  took  the  man's  pulse  after  the 
examination  was  ended.  No  one  had  spoken.  In 
the  faces  of  all,  as  far  as  I  could  detect  in  the  murky 
light  of  the  smoky  chimney  of  an  oil  lamp,  was  a 
set,  grim  look ;  not  the  look  that  officers  usually  wear 
when  there  has  been  a  killing  or  a  successful  capture 
in  a  crime. 

Marshall  straightened  up.     He  said,  solemnly : 

"  Billy,  I  think  you  are  going.  What  have  you 
got  to  say  ?  Any  message  ?  " 

"  No,  Jim,"  said  the  man  on  the  floor,  weakly. 
"  You  got  me  right.  I  went  into  the  thing  with  my 
eyes  open.  Only  don't  ask  me  to  squeal  on  the 
others.  I  got  what  I  deserved,  I  guess.  I've 
brought  shame  to  the  service  and  I'm  ready  to  pass. 
Thank  God,  thank  God,"  he  burst  out  with  sudden 
choking,  "the  wife  is  not  here  —  passed  out  last 
year,  you  know;  and  there  never  were  any  kiddies. 
No  one  to  suffer  but  you  boys  that  I've  disgraced." 

A  tear  rolled  from  his  eyes  to  the  floor. 

"  Can  I  say  a  word  to  him,  Marshall  ? "  It 
was  Lanagan  who  spoke.  The  other  men  had 
bowed  their  heads.  On  one  or  two  faces  I  could 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  283 

see  a  tear,  for  all  the  wetness  that  the  rain  had  left 
there. 

"  Enright,"  said  Lanagan,  kneeling  down  beside 
the  stricken  man,  "  you  know  you  are  passing. 
Make  a  clean  breast.  Who  killed  Mrs.  Stock- 
slag  erf  " 

His  eyes  closed  and  he  seemed  to  shrink  as  though 
trying  to  hug  the  floor  he  was  lying  upon. 
"  Whisky !  "  came  Lanagan's  sharp  whisper.  Un 
consciously  he  was  taking  command  of  the  situ 
ation,  asserting  his  natural  leadership  as  he  always 
did  in  tense  moments.  Marshall  passed  him  a 
pocket  flask  and  he  forced  a  sip  to  Enright's  lips, 
holding  his  head  up  with  his  left  arm.  The  eyes 
opened. 

"I  did." 

"Oh,  God,  Billy!  No,  no!  Not  that,  not 
that ! "  It  was  Marshall.  He  broke  down  and 
sobbed  like  a  boy.  Twenty-five  years  he  had  been 
in  the  federal  blue  with  Billy  Enright,  one  in  the 
revenue,  the  other  in  the  customs  service. 

"  Yes  —  /  did!  Jim,  get  me  a  priest !  Don't  let 
me  die  like  this !  For  old  time's  sake,  Jim !  " 

The  train  was  whistling  on  its  return. 

"  We're  taking  you  right  in,"  said  Lanagan, 
soothingly.  "  We'll  have  a  priest  for  you.  Why 
did  you  kill  her?" 

Enright  motioned  for  the  flask  with  his  free  arm. 
Lanagan  gave  him  a  long  pull.  For  a  time  at  least 
his  voice  was  stronger. 


284  LANAGAN 

"  She  was  threatening  to  tip  off  the  gang.  She 
used  to  work  with  us.  She  was  well  paid.  She 
didn't  know  I  was  in  the  service.  She  found  it  out 
some  way.  I  came  out  one  day  to  talk  over  with 
her  about  her  threats.  I'd  been  drinking,  worrying 
over  fear  of  exposure.  She  wouldn't  listen  to 
reason.  She  was  a  wolf.  She  goaded  me  crazy,  I 
guess.  She  taunted  me  about  being  a  traitor  to 
the  country  I  served.  Well,  I  lost  my  head.  I 
grabbed  the  butcher  knife  and  killed  her.  So  help 
me  God  as  I  am  about  to  die,  that's  the  truth." 

The  eyes  closed  for  a  space,  and  then  he  con 
tinued  : 

"  I  stuck  a  few  things  in  my  pockets  to  make  it 
look  like  robbery.  Then  I  started  to  cut  up  the 
body  to  pack  it  in  a  sack  and  bury  it  or  drop  it  off 
the  cliff.  I  weakened  and  dropped  it  outside  the 
door  and  ran.  It  was  dark  but  I  ran  for  miles 
around  over  the  sandhills  and  it  seemed  she  was 
always  right  after  me.  It  was  awful. 

"  I  got  my  wits  back  later.  I  saw  the  police  and 
the  papers  were  after  the  son.  I  felt  easier.  There 
was  a  big  shipment  coming  in  on  the  Hongkong  — 
$40,000  all  told.  No  one  would  come  out  here  and 
take  a  chance  landing  it.  Afraid  the  police  were 
watching  the  house.  I  volunteered.  I  figured  if 
any  one  saw  me  nosing  around  I  could  give  them 
the  inspector  talk.  I  hung  around  last  night  but 
the  ship  was  held  away  out  on  account  of  the  storm. 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  285 

I  had  to  come  out  —  again  —  to-night  —  that's  all, 
boys  — " 

The  door  flung  open  and  through  it  came  Phillips 
and  Castle.  McCluskey  and  Roberts  followed. 
The  train  had  stopped  unnoticed,  so  tense  was  the 
interest  within  the  hut  in  the  dying  man's  recital. 

"  Quick,  take  him  up,"  said  Lanagan.  They 
stooped  to  lift  him. 

"  Here,  what's  all  this?"     It  was  Phillips. 

"  Stand  aside !  "  came  Marshall's  blunt  command. 
It  was  obeyed.  Enright's  eyes  had  closed.  He  was 
made  as  comfortable  as  possible  with  cushions  on 
the  train,  as  that  ancient  rattle-trap  strained  and 
tugged  to  make  the  greatest  speed  of  its  history. 
Enright's  eyes  did  not  open  on  the  trip  in. 

They  never  opened  again. 

Lanagan  filled  in  for  me  the  details  of  the  story. 
The  bit  of  red  paper,  crinkled  inside  the  paper  with 
the  Chinese  characters,  meant  but  one  thing:  opium. 
Here  was  where  his  wide  acquaintance  with  the  un 
derworld  and  Chinatown,  the  customs  service  and 
the  water  front,  aided  him. 

Puzzling  over  the  presence  of  an  opium  wrapping 
in  that  isolated  hut  Lanagan  had  seated  himself  upon 
the  salt  grass  hummock  tq  smoke.  Into  his  field  of 
vision  steamed  the  Pacific  Mail  liner  —  and  his 
"  hunch  "  came  with  it.  His  examination  of  the 
shore  followed  to  locate  a  cove  that  would  give  a 


286  LANAGAN 

safe  place  to  float  the  opium  to  land  from  a  launch 
or  white  hall  boat  by  day  or  night.  Such  a  cove  he 
had  found,  where  the  waters  for  a  sixteenth  of  a 
mile  deposited  their  driftwood.  His  theory  was 
complete.  The  hut  was  a  smuggler's  runway;  the 
woman  was  in  the  ring  and  for  a  breach  of  faith 
had  been  slain,  an  attempt  being  made  to  have  it 
appear  she  was  slain  by  robbers. 

That  Marshall  and  his  men  had  been  preparing  to 
close  in  on  the  gang  that  made  the  cabin  their  ren 
dezvous  Lanagan  did  not  know  until  the  night  be 
fore. 

"  Then  I  found  the  whole  map  out  here  sprinkled 
with  them.  Recognised  Marshall,  who  nearly 
tumbled  over  me ;  but  he  probably  figured  I  was  one 
of  his  men,  and  said  nothing. 

"  It  was  funny.  McCluskey  and  Roberts  chasing 
ghosts  with  myself  and  four  revenue  officers  as  the 
audience.  I  nearly  laughed  when  McCluskey  told 
me  the  story  this  morning.  They  didn't  come 
within  fifteen  yards  of  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  either, 
although  they  said  they  did. 

"  The  weather  man  told  me  to-day  the  storm 
would  blow  over  by  evening  and  I  figured  the  Hong 
kong  would  be  making  port  and  the  ring  would 
attempt  to  land  their  stuff;  every  liner  has  been 
bringing  it  in.  I  came  out  last  night  on  the  chance 
she  might  try  to  make  port. 

"  No  one  suspected  Enright." 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS  287 

It  was  a  quarter  to  one  o'clock  when  the  train 
pulled  into  the  depot.  Marshall  turned  the  body 
over  to  Phillips  and  Castle  with  a  terse  resume  of 
the  facts  and  then  took  his  men  and  his  bundles  of 
opium  and  disappeared.  They  laid  Enright  out  on 
a  bench  to  await  the  coroner's  deputies. 

Phillips  came  over  to  us. 

"  I  guess  I  acted  kind  of  stiff,"  he  said,  in  awk 
ward  apology.  "  But  I  want  to  hand  it  to  you. 
You  scored  on  us  strong." 

Lanagan  put  out  his  hand.     The  detective  took  it. 

'*  You'll  never  make  any  mistake  treating  news 
paper  men  right,  Phillips.  Just  do  this  much  for  us 
now,  will  you?  Hold  off  thirty  minutes  before  you 
telephone  the  morgue.  That  will  keep  the  story 
exclusively  for  the  Enquirer." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  Phillips, 

And  he  did ;  which  may  seem  to  the  layman  a  little 
thing,  but  to  the  newspaper  man  a  detail  of  vast  im 
portance;  because  it  enabled  Lanagan,  sending  the 
story  to  the  office  by  telephone,  to  score  once  again 
in  sensational  manner  over  his  contemporaries,  the 
Times  and  the  Herald. 


A     000  040  400     4 


